Witness
by SleepingwithinWater
Summary: When Éponine is thrown into the Witness Protection Program after testifying against her parents' crimes, she and her younger brother move to Maine. There, they create a whole new life from scratch and meet the all-too captivating group, Les Amis. But will Éponine's new life built around lies eventually catch up to her? (E/É AU - Book 1)
1. Prologue

**A/N: I've had this idea for a while now, and it's getting to the point where I just wanna go back to writing a normal e/e story, not some crazy-ass AU, but they keep taking over my life. (Which it totally okay with me!) This is definitely aimed more toward the "normal" side of modern Les Mis AUs (unlike previous bootlegger and hippie AUs I've done). **

**I also would like to branch out some more, so if any of you want to see any sort of new story from me (whether it be Les Mis or another fandom) let me know and I'll see what I can do. I will most certainly still write e/e since I love them so much, but I wanna see what else I can do, too!**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter One: _Prologue_

.::.

_April 22__nd__; local courthouse in Florida._

.::.

Éponine Jondrette had never held someone's hand so tightly. Her stomach clenched with anticipation and fear. Her vision faded, her ears listening for only one word. Beside her, James Blackwell, a fifty-some year old man, winced when the young girl squeezed her hand again.

He gave her a reassuring smile. "They'll be back soon." He gently patted their clasped hands; he was going to need a lot of rest after this case.

Éponine blushed and nodded, pulling her hand away from her lawyer's. "Sorry," she whispered, wiping her damps hands on her skirt. After testifying against her own parents on charges of child abuse, child negligence, fraud, and trafficking of drugs, Éponine had a slight reason to be nervous. It was a lot to come clean on.

She figured they would win the case; it was evident the Thenardiers were both unfit parents of her younger brother, Gavroche, but guilty on all charges as well. But still, Éponine knew that the jury could swing either way.

Sighing, she rested her elbows on her knees, and held her face in her hands. At least twenty feet away were her parents, no doubt already lining up someone to get rid of her. Part of her felt sick to her stomach for testifying against them – they were her _parents, _after all; the other part of her was extremely proud of finally coming forward. After years of pain and hiding her pain, she came clean, and she felt free.

The door to the jury room opened and Éponine's head snapped up so fast her head nearly popped off. The jurors filed in, taking their seats once more. Judge Pence cleared his throat and sat up straight, reaching for his gavel.

This time, it was Mr. Blackwell who reached for Éponine's hand.

"Has the jury reached a decision?" Judge Pence asked.

A lone juror stood up, holding a sheet of paper before him. The man nodded, glanced at Éponine, and then her parents, and then back to the judge. "Yes, Your Honor."

"Proceed."

"We, the jury, find Mr. and Mrs. Thenardier – " There was a tedious pause; Éponine could feel the bile in her stomach churn about. "Guilty on all charges."

Relief flooded Éponine; smile cracked her face into two. Mr. Blackwell squeezed her hand and then looked to the judge for the sentence.

The wait was still not over.

"Mr. Thenardier and Mrs. Thenarider: $500 fine each for failing to report child abuse; 10 years in state penitentiary each for child abuse – including the act of burns onto a child; 5 years each in state penitentiary for desertion or non-support of a minor; 20 years each in state penitentiary for the trafficking of marijuana." The judge banged his gavel. "Court adjourned."

The next ten minutes were a whirlwind. From behind her, Éponine's co-workers and friends cheered and clapped her on the shoulder. Next to her, Mr. Blackwell shook hands with the judge and then wrapped Éponine in a tight hug.

The bailiff went to collect Éponine's parents, but her father ripped away from the man, stalking over to Éponine, his eyes ablaze with anger. Mr. Blackwell hollered for security and stood in front of his client.

Éponine, invigorated by the whole ordeal, did not stand down when her father's face was inches from her own. She could smell the alcohol on his breath.

"You will pay, 'Ponine. You will pay for this."

And then he was ripped away, led out through the back door, his wife beside him, resisting the man holding onto her arm. She glared at Éponine and shouted: "Don't be surprised if you wake up dead one morning, sweetheart!"

Éponine felt the bile rise in her throat again, and this time, she couldn't keep it down. She hurled into the trash can underneath the desk before her. There was more shouting around her as the supporters of her parents (mainly their cronies) called for an appeal and shouted things directed towards Éponine and her friends.

Suddenly, there was a rough hand on her arm, propelling her toward the door. She barely had time to grab her bag before she was out of the courthouse. The man who'd grabbed her was dressed in a dark suit, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes. A black SUV was apparently waiting for them at the end of the steps of the courthouse.

The driver door opened and Éponine held her hand above her eyes, adjusting to the sudden sunlight. Another man stepped out, dressed like the man still holding her arm. He took off his sunglasses and held out his hand.

"Miss Jondrette?" She nodded, swallowing, her stomach oddly calm. "Welcome to the Witness Protection Program."

.::.

_April 22__nd__; Florida State Police Department._

.::.

Éponine looked at the manilla folder she'd yet to open in her hand, blinking rapidly. "Ex – excuse me, tell me again, why this is necessary?"

Agent Bailey, the man who had stepped out of the car, sat on his desk, one foot propped up on the chair in front of him. Éponine sat in the opposite chair, her mind reeling. He sighed – again.

"Éponine." He faltered. "Can I call you Éponine?" She nodded. "Éponine, your case was one highly monitored by some of the head of staff at the Department of Justice."

She scoffed, frowning. "What?! Why – why on earth would they monitor _my _case?"

"Your parents were wanted criminals in at least fifteen states, but no one had enough evidence to pin them down until you came along." Bailey pointed the end of his sunglasses at Éponine. "Thanks to your testifying, they were arrested. But that doesn't mean people aren't gonna be angry that their leader was caught. I mean, come on, think about it! Your parents ran drug rings in those fifteen states and probably some prostitution rings in others; they were highly committed criminals, if you ask me."

Éponine's face remained blank, unaffected by the man's recount of her parent's history.

Bailey's tone grew softer. "Look, people are pissed that you testified. Obviously you could tell that from the energy in the courtroom. People you don't even know were threatening to kill you _and _your brother. And that's what we were assuming would happen. Going into the Program, assuming a new identity, it's all for your safety and for your brother's."

"Isn't this a little drastic?"

Bailey shrugged. "That's up to you. This is entirely voluntary; you don't have to do it if you don't want to, but we highly suggest that you do."

"And – and how long would we have to be in the Program?" Éponine looked to her left, out the glass door, glancing at Gavroche, who sat on the bench, swinging his legs back and forth. Mr. Blackwell had dropped him off an hour or so after Éponine had gotten to the station.

"You can leave at any point in time and return to your normal life, but once again, that is something we do not suggest. Usually, it's for the rest of your life."

Éponine scoffed and stood up, running a hand through her hair. "You expect me to drop everything I've worked for like that?" She snapped her fingers and shook her head. "No. No. This is crazy! I'll loose my job, and my house, and – and I finally got into art school!"

Bailey nodded, hopping off his desk. "Like I said, you don't have to do it. But we would provide money for both a home and your schooling, and job assistance, if need be."

Éponine sighed. "Can't I think about it?"

Bailey cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pockets, nodding. "Of course. But you only have 24 hours."

.::.

_April 24__rd__; Flight 468 to Augusta, Maine._

.::.

Gavroche jiggled his leg, anxiously looking around the cabin of the plane. Éponine folded her magazine shut, sighing. She looked at her brother.

"Walt, clam down," she said quietly, careful not to wake the sleeping woman beside her. Still not accustomed to his new name, the ten-year-old boy failed to pay attention to his sister. "Walter!"

Gavroche turned around this time. "Yeah?"

Éponine smiled at him, brushing the hair off his forehead. When she'd decided to join the Program, Éponine was at a loss for what to tell her brother. It didn't come easily, and she'd only told him small details on the way to the airport, but he seemed to get the gist.

"_Gav, look at me," Éponine repeated. When he didn't, she shoved his shoulder. _

"_Ow!"_

"_Pay attention!" Éponine's voice cracked. "This is very important, okay? We're moving, as you know, to Maine."_

_Gavroche rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know."_

"_I'm sorry we have to do it in the middle of school, but we really have no choice," she continued, her face softening. "It's for our safety." _

"_What do you –"_

_She shook her head and took his hand in hers. "Just trust me, okay? You've done that before, yeah?" Gav nodded slowly. "Your new name is now Walter. Your favorite color is red, and your favorite baseball team is the Red Sox." The manilla folder had laid out everything about Gavroche's new identity; right down to his biggest fear and best memory. Apparently, he was supposed to memorize it, but Éponine knew that was relatively impossible. She would only make him remember the important things. _

"_I hate the –"_

"_It doesn't matter!" Éponine's closed her eyes in agitation. "You must never tell anyone your true name, do you understand? If you do, we're screwed." _

_Gavroche visibly paled, confused, and scared. Éponine sighed and drew her brother to shoulder; she gently kissed his temple. "Hey, it's gonna be okay. We're gonna be fine." _

_He nodded, sniffing twice. "I'm gonna miss my friends." _

"_Me, too, pumpkin, but we'll find some new ones." _

"_Promise?"_

"_Promise."_

"You don't have to jiggle your leg like that."

Gavroche blushed, sinking down into the seat. "How much longer?"

"A couple of hours. Why don't you try to get some rest?"

When he rested his head on her shoulder, Éponine looked across the aisle: everyone was either on their phone or asleep; the woman beside her was out like a light. Slowly, quietly, she pulled out the manilla folder Bailey had given her two days before.

She still had yet to open it.

She didn't even know her new name yet.

Éponine took a deep breath, her heart hammering with nerves. She pushed back the front cover and flipped a piece of her hair out of her face. Like Gav's, there were two pieces of paper stapled together in the folder. She pulled them out and held them close to her face, lest anyone wake up and casually see anything.

Bailey had stressed how important secrecy was and she didn't want to blow her cover.

"All right, okay," she whispered, her eyes scanning the page. "Name.. name.. name." At the top of the page, she found it. "Veronica Rose Walter," she whispered. Then her eyes flipped over to Gav and back to the paper. "Well, shit, Bailey, you little fuck." Éponine shook her head ruefully, putting the papers back in the folder, and then shoving them into the bag. "Freaking Walter Walter. What an asshole."

She kissed Gav's forehead, making a mental note to tell him that his new name was utterly ridiculous and slightly embarrassing. He would adapt well anyway. Snuggling down in the seat, Éponine folded her arms over her chest.

Her new life would begin the moment they landed.

And it would all be one big lie.

But at least they would be safe.

* * *

**(Just in case you were wondering: I looked up the crime and punishment regulations for the state of Florida; so that's how I got then sentencing.)**

**So! This is 'Witness.' Please, please, please tell me what you're thinking. Reviews are like my motivation and crap.**

**Love, Jess**


	2. Veronica Rose

**A/N: AH! Thank you so much for all of your reviews! I am super excited for this fic, so I hope you all are, too. I wanted to warn you ahead that this is probably going to be a slow-burn fic. I've never tried to draw something out as long as possible, but those type of fics are some of my favorites. (I mean, you could count "Teacher of Man" as a slow-burn fic, but it's really not.) Seriously, like unspoken feelings and obvious sexual tension are the best. Just unf.**

**Even so, this isn't going to be 60k+ words of friendship and nothing else; **_**those **_**I can't stand. But it will take a while for things to flush out and all. **

**And I have my reasons for that.**

**As always, enjoy, and don't forget to leave your comments.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter One: _Veronica Rose_

.::.

_April 25__th__; __Éponine's new apartment in West Bath, Maine._

.::.

Gavroche sat with his back against the couch, throwing a bouncy ball against the wall, catching it when it came back to him. After the seventh throw, he caught the ball and fell against the floor, groaning loudly. "Éponine, I'm gonna die."

From over at the small, two-person table situated beside a window overlooking Winnegance Creek, Éponine chuckled. She looked up from the identity folders and leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms above her head.

She didn't blame Gav for feeling like he was gonna die; she figured she would go stir crazy soon enough, too.

West Bath was hardly Augusta. At the last moment possible, Éponine had gotten a call from Bailey as she loaded her luggage into the car that had been waiting for them. On the other end of the line he informed her that there had been a change of plans. At first, Éponine figured they would be able to come home, go back to their normal lives, but that wasn't the case. Merely a change of location. Instead of the capital of Maine, they would go to West Bath; apparently, since it was much smaller, no one would think to look there for them.

Éponine had to give Bailey and his boys credit for coming up with the most boring town in all of America. With a population that barely scratched the surface of two thousand, West Bath was about eleven miles of land and three miles of water. And that was it.

Éponine and Gavroche had been given an apartment away from the middle of town. It was fully paid for by the Program, so Éponine was glad she didn't have to worry about finding a job just yet. About twenty-five miles away there was a small community college she'd already started looking into; art school could not wait, a job could.

The apartment was small and fully furnished – not that the furniture was anything spectacular. Éponine figured the small home had once been used for a hunting outpost or the like because the house at the top of a hill and fashioned out of actual logs. Above the fireplace was a mounted moose head and there was a stuffed fox beside the backdoor.

The layout was open, though; the only redeemable quality in Éponine's eyes. The kitchen and living room and dining room were all one space. A small hallway off the kitchen area led to one bedroom and a washer and dryer tucked away inside a closet; another hallway off the wall that held the fireplace and mounted moose led to another bedroom and the tiny, cramped bathroom.

The house worked for two people – so far.

Éponine stood up from the table and sat on the couch, patting the place beside her. Gavroche took the cue and scrambled up next to his sister. "When are we getting a TV?" he asked.

"Bailey said that some installation guys would be coming tomorrow and then you'll have your TV," Éponine said, running her hand through his hair. "Be thankful we have Internet, kid."

Gavroche scowled and folded his arms across his chest. "I'm bored, though."

"Yeah? Me, too." Éponine rolled her eyes and stood up. "Quiz time."

The boy groaned again, shoving his head underneath a pillow. "No! We just did this!"

"Never hurts to be too prepared," Éponine said, lightly kicking his side. "Get up."

Gav poked his head out from under the pillow and frowned. "Fine. Go."

"Thank you." Éponine ran to go get the identity folders and then perched herself on the coffee table in front of her brother. "Name?"

"Walter Walter." Gavroche rolled his eyes.

Éponine smirked. "You already have your favorite color and sports team down, so.." Her finger trailed down the piece of paper holding Gavroche's information. "Favorite movie?" Gavroche sat up and hugged the pillow against his chest, shrugging. Éponine frowned slighlty. "Come on. You know this."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do!"

"Why does it even matter?"

Éponine faltered. "Be – because!"

"Because why? No one is ever gonna ask me this stuff, anyway, Ép. There's no point."

Éponine sighed. He was probably right; half the stuff on the paper was utter bullcrap and useless, but still, she wanted the assurance that if ever asked, he would know the answer to what his mother's maiden name was. She snapped his folder shut. "Fine, fine. But when you start school on Monday and accidentally say you came from Florida when their information says Kansas, it's not my fault!"

Gavroche slid off the couch and wrinkled his nose. "Whatever." He stalked toward the backdoor, shrugging on a light jacket.

"Where are you going?" Éponine stood up and put her hands on her hips.

"To climb a tree."

.::.

_April 25__th__; Éponine's apartment._

.::.

Éponine didn't start getting worried about where her brother was until ten-thirty. When they'd lived in Florida, sometimes he would go a day or so without coming home. Éponine would always worry, but she knew he was okay. He usually spent the night at a friend's house.

But they had no friends in Maine.

And they were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and a raging river.

Flipping on the porch light, Éponine pulled her robe tighter, frowning. She stepped out onto the small slab of concrete that served at a porch and looked around. There were plenty of trees he could be in, but she was just worried he'd gone exploring and got lost or even ran away.

Gavroche was a flighty kid, and even though he didn't let on about taking their new situation hard, Éponine knew her brother. He hated their new life, even if it had only been a few days since they got their new identities.

She cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled his name. No answer.

She called his name again.

"What do you want?" The answer came from inside.

Éponine whirled around and rushed inside, slamming the door behind her. Gavroche stood in his bedroom doorway, his pajamas rumbled and creased.

"Where have you been?!" Éponine exclaimed, pushing away the instinct to run to his side and see if he was all right.

He jerked his thumb toward his bedroom. "In here."

Éponine's jaw fell. "Since when?!"

"Since you got in the shower. I guess you didn't hear me."

"Damn right I didn't hear you! I thought you were outside still!"

"Geez, sorry." Gavroche lifted his arms in surrender. "Didn't realize I had to check in with you now. It was never like that before, sis."

"It is now! We don't know anyone here, Gav! I can't just call up Mary-Jane and see if you're over there for a sleepover or not, okay? You have to tell me where you're going."

Gavroche's shoulders fell slightly. "Okay, okay, I get it. I'm sorry."

"It's – it's fine. I'm glad you're okay, though." He nodded. "Goodnight, Gav," Éponine whispered.

"Goodnight." He quickly went back into his room and shut the door. Éponine waited until she saw the light leave from underneath his door before she went into her room and fell on the bed in a heap of sighs and frustration. This move was not going to be easy, that was for sure. Éponine didn't know why she ever thought it would be.

Over on the bedside table, her phone buzzed and slid across the table; she caught it before it could fall to the floor, unlocking it to stare at the text she'd received.

**Adrienne: **_Hey, Ép! Long time, no see. Just wonderin' where you were at. Haven't seen you since the trial. _

Adrienne, probably Éponine's closest friend, had always been there for her – through thick and thin. Seeing her text, knowing that they hadn't talked in at least a week (which _never _happened), and realizing they probably would never see each other again, stabbed Éponine in the gut.

Bailey had explicitly mentioned the importance of leaving behind their old life: Éponine and Gavroche were to have no contact with their past friends, their past jobs – nothing. Tears pricked the edge of her eyes as Éponine's finger wavered over the letters she so desperately wanted to type, the reply she wanted to send.

Instead, she deleted the message, grabbed a piece of paper, and wrote down the most important numbers – just in case. Adrienne's number, her old boss's number, Adam's number, the bartender she'd gone on a couple of dates with before, went down, too. Then, finding an envelope, shoving the paper inside and sealing it tightly, Éponine hid the envelope underneath the dresser in her room.

Hopefully, she would forget about it.

When that was done, Éponine erased all contacts from her phone.

It was better that way.

.::.

_April 27__th__; West Bath Elementary School._

.::.

Monday came before Éponine and Gavroche were ready.

The Program (which continued to astound Éponine with their thoroughness) had enrolled Gavroche in Mrs. Pontmercy's fifth grade class and he was to start immediately. And like Gavroche, it was Éponine's first day of school, too. She'd been able to contact the art school nearby and see if they would accept her and the credits she'd gotten at her old school.

Turns out the Program had contacted them, too. (Anonymously, of course. Éponine, Gavroche, and the Program were the only people who knew their secret.) Éponine was to start her classes that afternoon.

Éponine kept her hand on her brother's shoulder as they walked up the steps of the school. She buzzed for the door to be opened and then led her brother to the front desk. Her heart banged with nerves; it was the first time she'd talked to anyone under her new name.

The woman at the front desk looked up from her computer and smiled at Gavroche, folding her hands on the desk. "Hello!" Her voice was sickeningly sweet and high-pitched; Éponine almost winced. "And who might you be?"

Gavroche twitched his nose, unamused. He was used to new schools and their first-day-fakeness; it always weared off after the first couple of hours or so. "Walter... Walter." Gavroche nearly choked on the name.

Éponine squeezed his shoulder. "We're new to the area."

The woman, amused by her brother's name, swallowed her laughter, and turned to the computer, typing in his name. "Yes, yes, I have you here, Walter –"

"Walt," Gavroche corrected.

The woman chuckled. "I'm sorry. Walt, your classroom is straight down the hall and to the left. You can't miss it. It's a pretty tiny school." The woman smiled up at Éponine. "You can take him if you like, and then when you come back I have some papers for you to fill out."

Éponine nodded, sending the woman a tight-lipped smile. "Thanks."

"Certainly!"

Gavroche hoisted his backpack a little higher on his shoulders and trudged down the hall, not waiting for Éponine to catch up with him. She walked briskly to get to his side.

"Hey," she whispered. "You're gonna do fine."

"What if I mess up?"

"You won't. We practiced." At the door to his classroom, Éponine could hear the students saying the pledge and then the teacher taking roll. "Do you want me to go in with you?"

At first, he hesitated, but then nodded eagerly. "Yeah.."

Éponine knocked on the door and waited for the teacher to come and open it. She did and smiled brightly upon the sight of Gavroche.

"You must be Walter!" she said. "Come in, come in." Gavroche followed the woman into her classroom, throwing Éponine a nervous look. She gave him a thumbs up, following them in, lagging behind.

Éponine looked around the room in one clean sweep. Everything was put away and ordered very specifically on each shelf and counter; motivational posters about doing your best and not worrying about the future hung high on the walls; the seats were arranged into three rows, each row holding five children. On the whiteboard were the words "Mrs. Pontmercy" and the date and what special the kids had; Gavroche would be going to the library that day.

Mrs. Pontmercy, a tiny, blond woman who radiated happiness, led Gavroche to his seat. "You'll sit here, beside Drake, okay? It's so wonderful to have you here! Now, I'm going to go talk to your mom for a minute –"

"She's my sister," Gavroche said, without looking at his new teacher, shoving his folders inside of his desk.

Mrs. Pontmercy colored before apologizing quietly and coming over to stand in front of Éponine. "Gosh! I'm really sorry about that."

Éponine laughed lightly, shaking her head. It happened all the time. "Don't worry about it."

"Well, I'm Cosette Pontmercy." Cosette held out her hand and Éponine shook it, raising her eyebrows.

"I'm Veronica Walter, Walter's sister."

Cosette bit her lip, her eyes widening. "Walter Walter, right?" Éponine nodded slowly. "That is an.. interesting name. Anyway, since it's nearly the end of the school year, we're wrapping up most of the chapters we're on in each subject, but since he just came from another school, I'm sure they're somewhere close to where we are in the curriculum. He should be fine."

"Great." Éponine nodded. "Is there anything I need to get him?"

Cosette glanced over at Gavroche, who had his head in his hands, staring straight ahead. "I see that you provided most of the things he needs. If he's missing anything, I'll give it to him; don't worry."

"Well, if that's it, I should get going."

"Course." Cosette led Éponine to the door. "Email or call me if you ever have any questions."

"Thank you," Éponine said. "Will do. Have a nice day."

"You, too! Bye!" Cosette waved as Éponine walked down the hall and then continued to start her day.

.::.

_April 27__th__; West Bath main street. _

.::.

Éponine didn't leave the school until nine-thirty. All the papers she had to fill out were tedious and repetitious and she had a hard time remembering all the information she'd shoved into her head during the past few days.

She decided to take a walk afterword, check out the town. Her classes didn't start until twelve and the car the Program had given her could wait in the school parking lot for an hour or so.

Main Street was hardly anything busy. Besides a CVS on a corner, a movie rental store connected to a Pizza Hut, and two libraries directly across from each other, Éponine didn't see much of anything that seemed worth coming to town again for. The sidewalks were laid with brick, giving the area a quaint feel. She supposed some apartments were above the little shops because clothes hung out to dry on the fire-escapes.

Éponine stopped walking at the square. Across from her was a small coffee-house, shoved in-between a lawyer's office and bank. "The Café Musain," she whispered, walking up to it slowly. A "Help Wanted" sign hung on the front door. Glancing at her watch, Éponine decided to go in.

She needed a job anyway.

Why not work at a café?


	3. Homework and Friendship

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews. They mean so much (and I definitely have a soft-spot in my heart for really long, in-depth reviews; they make me so happy!). Anyway, I'm kind of on a roll with this story and I've written about two chapters ahead, so as long as that keeps up, updates should be regular. (But don't hold me to that.) **

**Speaking of which, is there any day you would like this story to be updated on; like, every week? Since I am writing ahead, I'm always really tempted to update like every other day, but I don't want to do that because people could get really far behind or something. I was thinking Wednesdays? **

**(trigger warning: mentions of rape and suicide)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Two: _Homework and Friendship_

.::.

_May 5__th__; __Éponine's apartment._

.::.

One week later, Éponine and Gavroche sat on the living room floor doing their homework simultaneously. Gavroche had proved himself – once again – to be very good at adapting to a new school. Though he struggled slightly during the first week (He and Éponine both hadn't realized just how far he was behind in school until he got his first test grade back.), he quickly was able to get the after-school help from his teacher and get his grades up.

Éponine, on the other hand, blended into her art classes well and had gotten the job at the café in town. For the moment, she worked part-time, during the mornings. She would drop Gav off at school and then go to work until she had to leave for college. And while the Program still paid for rent, Éponine set the money aside for necessary things: food, clothes, Internet.

Éponine finished the last paragraph of the assigned reading section and shut her book, taking a sip of her soda. She sat up and crossed her legs, watching Gavroche intently. After a few moments, he sighed and looked up, setting his pencil down.

"What?"

"Do you have any friends yet?" she asked, curious.

Gavroche wiped the underside of his nose and sat up, leaning his back against the couch. "Yeah. Why?"

Éponine shrugged as she stood up to go refill her glass. "Just wondering." When she reached the fridge and pulled out the soda bottle, she stopped. "Do you want to have them over?"

Gavroche nodded slowly. "I guess. Would Bailey like that?"

Éponine chuckled. "Bailey didn't say anything about not having friends, Gav. Just not our old ones."

Gav smiled before cocking his head to the side. "Do you have any friends, Éponine?"

Éponine swallowed hard before shooting her brother a bright grin. "Sure I do!"

"Good." He stood up and grabbed his school stuff, shoving it into his backpack on the couch. "Can my friend come over for dinner this week?"

"Yeah, I guess. I may start working evenings soon, but I'm sure we can squeeze it in sometime soon. Maybe not this week, though."

"Okay. Thanks!"

Éponine nodded, her throat tight. She was proud of how well Gavroche was dealing with everything all of a sudden. He was remarkably resilient to change and the fact that their parents were going to be in jail for the rest of their lives and they had to assume new identities didn't seem to deter him from being the same happy-go-lucky boy from Florida. Since school had started, he'd practically returned to normal.

"Of course. It's getting late. Why don't you head off to bed?" she suggested, feeling her hand tighten around her glass. As if on cue, Gavroche nodded and yawned, giving her a wave, before trudging off to bed.

When she heard his bedroom door close, Éponine let go of a deep sigh she didn't realize she'd been holding. She'd lied to Gav about having friends; she had none. She'd barely even looked up from her papers and art canvases in class to even look at any of her fellow classmates. All she was focused on was sort-of settling down into her new life.

Friends could wait.

A normal life could wait.

.::.

_May 8__th__; The Caf__é__ Musain._

.::.

Keeping true to her word, Éponine began working the evening shift three days later. Her mornings were now free until eleven when she would have to get to the college at least thirty minutes early to get a good seat in her Art History class. After classes ended around three-thirty, she would have to book it to work in order to serve hot drinks from five until ten-thirty. Her boss liked her there at least an hour to an hour and a half early.

It left barely any time for her to spend with Gavroche, which really sucked, but since she only had to work Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays for the time being, and classes were Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, it left her a fraction of life left.

Her first evening shift seemed daunting.

Éponine had only ever worked in the mornings. The only customers were old men meeting together to discuss politics and the weather; or maybe some business man stopping in for a coffee on his way through town. Rarely did Éponine have to actually do much of anything. Her work hours were really used for homework and doodling.

She pushed open the glass doors around four-fourty five, apologizing quickly to her boss, June, for nearly being late, who was getting an order from a table right near the front door. June, a woman around fifty, became the owner of the café after her husband had passed away. She had a peaceful demeanor, but was strict on good work for the people of her town. June sighed and stared at Éponine for a moment.

"Honey, no need to apologize. You don't start until six."

Éponine blushed and nodded, choosing not to reply. She heaved her books up against her chest, wondering why she hadn't just left them in the car. Gently, she pushed her way through the long line in front of the register, muttered apologies as she went. She stopped behind the counter, searching for her colleague, Ryan. He apparently wasn't there yet.

Glancing at the person in the front of the line, Éponine smiled weakly. "Sorry! I'll be with you in a minute." She rushed to the back room, dropped her books, shrugged off her coat, threw on an apron, and tied her hair back into a ponytail before rushing back to the register, almost out of breath. "How can I help you?" she asked, smiling wider.

"_Be happy, girl! You don't look very happy, and waitresses, bartenders, whatever you want to call yourself, need to happy." _

Jane's words from her orientation echoed in her mind. At the time, leaving her old life had left in her a deep rut and she struggled to inch her way out of it. Though Éponine still mourned loosing her friends, she'd made at least one new friend from school. And if her mother had ever told her anything of worth, it was that one friend was better than none.

The man glanced into his wallet, blinking his eyes. "Um, can I have a regular coffee? A medium."

"Sure. That'll be three dollars." She took the money and handed him a receipt. "If you could just stand at the end of the counter, I'll have that for you in a few moments."

Glancing around the register, Éponine took a headcount: four more customers. She could do it in five minutes – seven tops. Halfway through the seven minutes, Éponine was making perfect time. She just had one more customer left before the door rang as it opened and she walked slowly as nine young men walked into the café, their voices loud with energy. She was also more than surprised to see Gavroche's teacher in attendance. But she must have looked pissed or nervous because the woman behind the register laughed.

"You must be new here. Those boys," she pointed to the group who seemed to have a designated spot toward the back of the restaurant. "Come here everyday. They have since high-school. They're basically like West Bath's own sort-of gang, just minus the violence."

Éponine handed the woman her drink without answering and then took her money. "Have a nice evening."

Something about the group of boys put her off. Maybe it was because they were so loud and she had a raging headache or because they all looked so _privileged_.Éponine had always had a prejudice against privileged kids. Every one she had met in Florida treated her and her siblings like dirt.

So what if sometimes her younger sister wore the same shirt two days in a row? So what if Gavroche traded his beloved Yankees baseball cards for an extra lunch because he was so hungry? So what if Éponine sold pot once and awhile to make ends meet for her family?

They had no idea what it was like.

Her anger toward them and their demeaning ways was silent until she'd been called down to the front office one day. It turned out the mayor's son had gone to a party the night before and met Azelma, Éponine's younger sister by two years. As a senior in high-school and in the same graduating class as Éponine, _and _the mayor's son, she knew who he was – _everyone_ knew who Gavin Winn was; it was common knowledge. Éponine had been initially confused as to why the hell she was called down to the office to talk about a stuck-up, ungodly-attractive boy who she barely even talked to; but then the principal had come out and told her that there had been an accident at the party the night before.

Azelma had gotten drunk – _really, really drunk. _Turns out that when a semi-popular tenth grader who is beyond pissed and a senior, intent on showing off and blackening his family name, who isn't going to think twice about the decisions he makes mix things don't jive together too well.

Gavin had raped Azelma that night in the bathroom.

One of Gavin's friends had taken a video and posted it online.

The next day (being Monday), Azelma went to school, like normal, unaware of what had happened to her the night before. Sure, she felt a little sore, but she figured she only hooked up with someone and forgot about it. But when she got off the bus, told Éponine bye for the day, and was then met with snickers and glares from other kids at school, she suddenly realized: the girl in the video she'd heard about on the bus ride that morning was _her. _

Later that day, after ditching school, Azelma had taken her own life – on school property.

Of course, the second Éponine had been told this, she immediately asked about what would happen to the boys who were the cause of her sister's death. The principal had sighed and said that it was going to be taken care of.

It never was.

The boys walked away scotch free because of their parents: their parents' job, their parents' money, their parents' contributions to the school.

It made Éponine sick for weeks. And from then on she promised herself she would _never, ever _trust some preppy, white-ass boy when they rolled around again.

So, the fact that a group of impeccably dressed, privileged white boys who were apparently the "gang" of town were now in Éponine's café, did not bode well with her.

Thankfully, Ryan clambered through the back door just as June came up to tell Éponine to go wait on the new crew. June shook her head, clucking her tongue. Ryan, an eccentric, obviously gay boy around Éponine's age, winced.

"I know; I know! I'm sorry!"

"Go wait on that table." June pointed to the table Éponine dreaded with her pen. "_Now._"

Ryan nodded without another word and rushed to the table.

.::.

_May 8__th__; __Éponine__'s_ _apartment._

.::.

It was midnight.

Usually Éponine wouldn't stay up too late on a night when she had classes; but Thursday held no classes, so she figured she would "live it up" a little.

After a grueling evening at work (Two other large parties had come in and stayed just as long as the privileged group.), Éponine had invited Ryan to come back to her apartment, just to hang out for awhile. He readily accepted.

Although they had only spoken a few times before, Éponine found it comforting to have a potential new friend _in _West Bath; not someone she would only see on school days. The girl – Bethany – was sweet enough, but Éponine knew it wouldn't ever be a friendship like she had with Adrienne.

So, Ryan and Éponine had rode home in her brand-spankin' new, Program-provided car, singing showtunes at the top of their lungs. Gavroche was already asleep when they got home at eleven; Ryan and Éponine got a glass of wine and sat on the front porch.

"You don't mind, do you?" Ryan held up a cigarette.

Éponine shook her head. "No."

He lit it and took a drag before watching the smoke leave his mouth and enter the night air. Ryan was handsome, that was for sure, but definitely off the market. (Not that Éponine was interested.) He was about a foot taller than her, well built shoulders, and toned arms; painfully gorgeous brown hair. Acne scars lined his forehead and jaw, but Éponine thought it added character.

"So, what was up with you giving _Les Amis _the stink eye?" Ryan smirked, dangling his cigarette between his fingers. He raised an eyebrow and chuckled softly.

Éponine regarded Ryan with a confused look. "What?"

"You know, that group of obnoxiously rowdy, really hot boys?" He waggled his eyebrows, hoping Éponine would catch on quickly.

She did.

"Oh, yeah. Them." Éponine rolled her eyes and looked off into the trees, resting her head on her knees.

The drag Ryan had taken from his cigarette sputtered out of his mouth. "Excuse me? We are talking about the pinocle of attractive in West Bath, Maine!"

Éponine laughed loudly, taking a sip of her wine. She turned to face Ryan. "And?"

"And I've tried to just sneak myself to the back and sit at a table in the corner and just plain look at them, but it hasn't worked because June always catches me. The point is: why were you staring at them like they ran over your cat?"

Éponine shrugged, reaching for his cigarette. She only smoked when she was nervous.

Ryan groaned. "Fine. I'll drag it out of you eventually, but get over your fear of them or whatever because they come every night."

"Do they?"

"Sure do. Without fail."

"Great."

* * *

**Okie-dokie! How are we feeling? **

**See y'all next Wednesday!**

**Love, Jess**


	4. Old Friends

**A/N: I changed my mind. I'm awful at keeping to the schedule I made up for myself. I'm gonna try and update every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday; so no updates on the weekends unless there is a special circumstance or something.**

**Once again, thank you all for the lovely reviews. I'm so glad you love this story just as much as I do! And to clear one issue up: a guest review mentioned the apartment/cabin. I realize this may be confusing. ****Éponine and Gav live in a rented cabin-type-thing, but it's not an apartment. Usually, when I think of something being rented, I call it an apartment. Sorry if that was confusing!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Three: _Old Friends_

.::.

_May 14__th__; Rosemar Community College._

.::.

It was a windy, rainy Tuesday afternoon.

Éponine's classes had finished for the day and her shoulders weighed heavily with the thought of going to work. Ever since her conversation with Ryan, she could really only think about what had happened to her sister.

And that wasn't normal.

Éponine had made sure she filed away that memory two months after it happened, when she graduated. She hadn't actually thought of her sister until she saw those boys... She hated them even more for that.

As for Gavroche, school was splendid. He grew to love his classmates and his teacher; and he was making excellent grades. He'd already been invited over to his friend's houses twice. Éponine was happy for him and his good fortune in finding friends.

So far, her only friend was Ryan.

Éponine walked to her car quickly, the wind blowing her hair in front of her eyes. She knew full well that if she didn't get a move on she would be late. Setting her books on the roof of her car, Éponine rooted for her lanyard in her bag. A strong gust of wind picked up a piece of paper from the top of her pile and blew it away down the sidewalk. Éponine cursed under her breath and wrenched open the car door when she found the keys, throwing her school stuff into the passenger seat.

She turned to go and get the paper, but someone had already beat her to it. Fifty feet away, a man reached down and picked it up, brushing the dirt off onto his pant leg. He turned and saw Éponine staring at him and then walked to her car, handing her the paper. He had a head full of shaggy brown curls and strong arms accentuated by his tight fitting shirt.

"I believe this is yours."

Éponine nodded, taking it from her hands. She avoided eye contact. When he had looked up, she had immediately recognized him as one of the boys from the café – _Les Amis _as they called themselves. "Thanks."

"I'm Grantaire, by the way," he said, watching Éponine intently as she folded the paper twice and tossed it into the car.

Éponine stood back up and held her hair away from her face, squinting her eyes. "Great." She smiled, though her eyes held no form of friendliness. She stepped into her car and reached for the door.

The man chuckled, confused, holding the car door firmly. Éponine slid the key into the ignition and sighed, glancing back at him. "The least you could do is tell me your name. We have two classes together, for Pete's sake. I've seen you before and– " he said.

Éponine narrowed her eyes and turned on the car, interrupting him. "Veronica. My name is Veronica. Now, if you could kindly let go of the door, I need to get to work."

The man – Grantaire – let go of the door, holding up his hands in defeat. "Sorry to hold you up."

Éponine nodded and closed her car door, shifting into reverse. She threw an arm over the chair beside her and backed up, before waving lightly to Grantaire and then tearing out of the parking lot.

.::.

_May 14__th__; The Café._

.::.

Éponine pulled into her parking space behind the café with thirty minutes to spare. She let go of a deep sigh and pounded the steering wheel with the heel of her left hand.

"Damn it," she whispered, running a hand over her face. She'd been so blatantly rude to the guy at school; and the guilt was starting to creep up on her – slightly. He'd been kind enough to catch the fly-away paper for her (Though the paper wasn't that important.), and she'd barely made eye contact or made any sort of conversation.

Éponine wasn't normally a rude person.

But he was from the Privileged Group, as she'd begun to call them. (_Les Amis _sounded too hokey and self-righteous to her.) She'd seen him before, of that she was sure, but she couldn't quite place him within the group. She'd already pinpointed their leader: some pompous, rich kid who looked a little too much like Gavin for her liking. But Grantaire – he didn't stick out in her mind. Still, when she had seen him in the parking lot that afternoon, she'd reacted immediately the way she always did when rich kids started talking to her: she ignored them and their advances toward whatever the hell they wanted from her.

Rain started to pour from the sky just as Éponine stepped out of her car. Cursing and throwing her bag over her head, Éponine dashed down the lane that led to the back door. She threw it open and shook her wet hair, brushing the water off her bag. Ryan came in seconds after her.

She smiled and shrugged off her jacket, hanging it on the hook. "Hey," she said, moving down the small hall toward the break room.

"Hey!" Ryan followed Éponine through to the break room a couple of moments later. He threw his school stuff down on the table in the center of the small room. "Some rain storm, huh?"

Éponine nodded, wringing out her drenched hair in the trash can; she laughed, making a face. "Don't get me wrong, I like rain, but not that kind of rain." Éponine went and sat across from Ryan at the table, pulling her phone out of her bag, checking to see if it was wet or not.

It wasn't.

She unlocked it: fifteen unread messages and three voice mails.

It had been about three and a half weeks since she'd last talked to any of her old friends. Normally, she kept her phone off unless Gavroche was home alone, but she'd turned it on today because he was sick.

From across the table, Ryan peered at Éponine. "Boyfriend trouble?" he asked.

Éponine rolled her eyes, but smiled lightly. "You know I don't have a boyfriend, Ryan."

Ryan shrugged, leaning back in his chair, propping his feet on the table. "You could have gotten one yesterday for all I know. A lot can happen between shifts, Ronny. Or maybe you have a secret boyfriend from wherever-the-hell you came from –"

"Kansas," Éponine supplied, smirking at the nickname he'd given her a few days earlier; it stuck instantly and she liked it.

"Right, the middle of nowhere. You could have one." He nodded slowly, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, I don't." Éponine looked back at her messages, sucking in a deep breath.

Against her better judgment, she opened a few of them:

**Adam: **_wanna go for a beer? been awhile._

**Adrienne: **_Where the hell are you? I'm getting worried!_

**Joe: **_You haven't been to work in two weeks. If this continues and you don't tell me, I'll have to fire you, kiddo. Don't wanna do that._

**Adrienne: **_For God's sake, Éponine, where are you?!_ _Is this because Adam and I slept together before you two ended up hooking up?_

"Yo, Veronica." Ryan snapped his fingers in front of Éponine's face. She looked up quickly. "You're crying. Are – are you okay?"

She lifted her hand to her cheek, finding it to be damp. Hastily, Éponine shoved the phone into her bag. "It's just the rain, Ryan." She stood up and wiped off her cheeks with the back of her hand.

He didn't buy it, but stood up and grabbed his apron. "Whatever you say, Hot Legs. Come on, we better go before June kicks us out into the rain."

"Yeah, yeah, okay. I'll be out in a couple of minutes, okay? Gotta – little girl's room."

Ryan blanched and skirted into the café. Éponine grabbed her phone again and slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She scrolled through the messages again, searching for a specific one.

**Me: **_Can I call a friend?_

**Bailey: **_No._

Simple enough.

She then went to her voice-mail: two of them were from Adrienne; one was from Bailey. She chose to listen to his first:

"_Hey, Éponine. Just me – checking in on you. Don't hesitate to call if you need anything."_

She rolled her eyes and deleted the message, shoving her phone in her pocket and heading out to work.

.::.

_May 14__th__; The Café._

.::.

"Why don't you go talk to them?" Ryan lightly shoved Éponine's shoulder with his own, gesturing to the Privileged Group with his eyes. Éponine shot him a look. "What?! You've only been staring at them for the past ten minutes!"

"Have not," Éponine scoffed.

"Have too. Really, they're not that awful."

"Why don't _you_ go talk to them?" Éponine countered, brushing past Ryan, refilling one of the espresso machines. "If they really aren't that awful."

Ryan spun around from the counter and held a hand to his chest in mock hurt. "Geez, Ronny. That – that is just cold. I am astounded at how quickly you can turn on a man! And here I thought we were friends.." He shook his head, staring somberly at the floor.

Éponine laughed, punching his shoulder, shaking her head. "Shut up, ass-face."

"Veronica!" Éponine turned around, her face white, afraid June had caught her and Ryan goofing off on the job. Instead, the woman was staring at her pad of paper. "Go over to the boys and tell them that their orders will be a slightly later than expected and we're sorry for that."

Éponine shot wide eyes to Ryan; he winced. "Um, June, that's – you see – I – we –" Éponine made motions between herself and Ryan, unable to come up with a sufficient alibi to not go serve the Privileged Group.

"What Veronica is trying to say is that we took a bet earlier and –"

June held up a hand; both Ryan and Éponine shut their mouths. "I don't want to here it. Veronica, go."

Époninesighed; she squeezed Ryan's arm in thanks. "Yes, ma'am."

Defeated, Éponine walked slowly to the group. Like always, they were in the same two booths every day, in the same seats as they were the day before. Medical books, and law books, and education books were strewn over the tables, neglected. Empty coffee cups and beer bottles were either resting on the single table across from the two booths or somewhere on the edge of the booths. They were loud; usually Éponine was able to eavesdrop and gather information about their day-to-day lives. So far, none of them had noticed her or Ryan. Not even Gavroche's teacher, who came in regularly with, who Éponine assumed was, her husband.

It was like they lived in their own world, full of money and the promise of a stable future.

It was like high-school all over again.

Heart pounding, she reached the edge of the first booth, clearing her throat. Nine male heads and one female head turned to face her, eyebrows raised. A ball of irritation and unnecessary embarrassment formed in the pit of Éponine's stomach.

"June wanted me to let you all know that your orders would be slightly late; we're a bit backed up. So, we apologize." She clasped her hands in front of her and swallowed.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it!" A man with an oddly bent nose positioned his body so it was facing Éponine. He smiled brightly.

She then nodded, glancing quickly at the blank faces of the customers. Her eyes flitted over Grantaire for a second before returning to the man in front of her. "If you need anything, let me know."

Turning sharply on her heel, Éponine began to make a bee-line for the safety of the counter, from which Ryan was laughing at her relentlessly. But, of course, it wouldn't be that simple.

"Hey – hey, wait a second!"

Éponine clenched her jaw tightly and turned around very slowly, her lips pulled into a tight-line.

Grantaire was standing up, a beer bottle in his hand, his face trying desperately to recognize Éponine's. She prayed he didn't.

"Do I know you from somewhere?"

Several snickers traveled throughout the group of boys.

Éponine felt her cheeks warm. "Um, we met earlier today, at school."

"Right, right, right. Yeah, I remember. Vanessa?"

"Veronica."

"Sorry, yeah, Veronica."

At this, Cosette Pontmercy caught on, her face clearing of confusion. "Aren't you Walter's mom?"

Éponine felt her throat tighten. For some odd reason, tears threatened to slip out from behind her eyes. She twitched her nose, face blank, voice stolid. "Sister, actually."

Cosette giggled behind her hand, obviously slightly drunk. "Oh, whoops." The man beside her laughed and threw an arm over her shoulder, turning away from Éponine.

"Do you need anything?" Éponine ground out, blinking rapidly.

"Can I have a refill?" Grantaire raised his bottle; several other men did the same.

"Sure. Ryan would be glad to help you." Éponine turned around quickly and rushed past Ryan, who stared at her apologetically.

"Honey, I'm sorry –"

"Forget about it," she whispered, pushing into the kitchen.

Stumbling into the break room, Éponine fought to catch her breath. She leaned against the wall, feeling her chest heave beneath her hand.

Why was she acting this way?

It was weird. Of course she had expected them to act that way.

Pompous.

Self-righteous.

So, why, in the back of her head, was she telling herself that they could be different?

Of course they couldn't be.

They were...

Privileged.

* * *

**So, the **_**Amis **_**have made their appearance. Well, in a way, at least. Not what you were expecting? Let me know what you're feeling, lovelies! **


	5. Bonding Time

**A/N: Some characteristics may not make sense to you at first, but they will be cleared up eventually. Bear with me, guys! (You'll come to find that I say that a lot during this fic.)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Four: _Bonding Time_

.::.

_May 15__th__; West Bath Elementary School._

.::.

Thursdays were Éponine's favorite days so far.

No classes; no work; nothing.

So, two days after the incident at work with the Privileged Group that left her seriously considering finding a new job, Éponine decided to surprise her brother with some quality time. It had been awhile since they'd gotten to do anything together and Éponine was eager to unwind.

She chose not to tell him of her plans. Thursday morning, she dropped him off at school, as usual, and then drove back home, cleaning up around the house just a little. At ten-thirty, she drove back to the school and walked in the front door, telling the lady at the desk that she had to pick up her brother for a doctor's appointment and he wouldn't be back for the rest of the day.

The woman called for Gavroche – or Walter – over the intercom and then went back to her work. He didn't come out after five minutes and Éponine got tired of waiting around on the too-stuffed chairs by the window.

"Can – can I go back?" she asked, standing up, pointing to the hall that led to Gav's room.

"Sure." The woman never looked away from her computer.

_So much for safety_, Éponine thought.

Reaching Mrs. Pontmercy's open door, Éponine felt her pulse quicken. She'd feigned sickness the night before, leaving work before the Privileged Group could get there. She hoped Cosette had been too drunk to remember what she'd said, and how she'd brushed it off with a giggle.

She knocked on the door and entered. Cosette turned around from the whiteboard and glanced at Gavroche. "You can go now," she said. Gavroche bolted from his chair, grabbing his backpack and throwing it on his shoulder.

Éponine moved to say something, but thought against it, wrapping her arm around Gavroche's shoulder when he glued himself to her side. Frowning slightly, Éponine walked him out to the car. He got in the passenger seat, still silent, and folded his arms across his chest. Éponine turned on the car and waited for a moment before turning her body to face him.

"What happened?"

Gavroche shook his head and looked out the window.

Sighing resolutely, Éponine cut the engine. "Fine, if you wont fess up, we won't go to Augusta for the day." Hoping that would peak his interest, Éponine waited silently, staring out the window.

After a few moments of silence, she heard him whisper, "Where are we going in Augusta?" Several times since they had moved, Gavroche had asked to visit the city they _would _have lived in. Éponine had always said no; she didn't see the point, but after not spending as much time together, she figured a day trip would do them both good.

"Nope." She popped the 'p' with her lips. "Not until you tell me."

"Someone made fun of me," he finally said, staring at his lap.

Éponine swallowed hard. They were too close to the school for comfort. She was afraid she would go in and beat up whoever the hell had hurt her brother. She turned on the car and slowly began heading toward Augusta. It was a fifty minute drive; they had time to talk things through.

"Who did it?"

He shook his head.

"_Gav._"

"Promise you don't do anything?!" His voice became higher than usual and desperate, almost strangled. Éponine nodded. "Mrs. Pontmercy."

The car came to a screeching halt on the side of the road.

Gavroche lurched forward and caught himself on the dashboard. "Éponine! You promised!"

Éponine took off her seat-belt and faced Gavroche fully. "What did she say?" When he shook his head and tried to inch as close to the door as possible, she grabbed his arm. "Gavroche, what – did – she – say?"

"It – it was only one thing!" Her hand still roughly attached to his arm, Gavroche shook his head violently, tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

Éponine let go of his arm; her hand fell to her lap limply. "Please, Gav. I promise I won't say anything to her. Just tell me what she said."

He nodded grimly. "When I went to get my makeup work from being absent, she looked at me kinda funny and then handed me my folder and said, "You know, if Veronica is your _mother_, you shouldn't be ashamed or anything." And I told her that you were my sister, but she didn't look like she believed me."

"Oh, Gavroche, I'm – I'm sorry."

He shrugged, wiping at the underside of his nose, rolling his eyes. "It's whatever."

"What did you do?" she asked quietly.

"I didn't do anything. I sat back down and then you came in."

Éponine nodded, looking out the window to her right. There were many possible things Éponine could do about this: she could do nothing at all, or she could turn around and storm into Cosette's classroom and demand for her to apologize. Either way, practically nothing would get done.

"I wish I could do something to make this better," she supplied, knowing it wouldn't take away the embarrassment of the situation.

"Doesn't matter. Can we just go?"

"Yeah – yeah, sure." Éponine restarted the car and pulled back out onto the road. When Gavroche turned the radio to the most annoying pop station in existence, she didn't change it.

.::.

_May 15__th__; Old Fort Western._

.::.

"It says here that this is the country's oldest wooden garrison building, built in 1754. Huh." Éponine turned around in a circle, staring up at the ceiling of Old Fort Western, a gigantic log fort, which sat on extensive grounds. Gavroche stood ten or so feet away from her, infatuated with the old guns and weapons.

"This is incredible, Veronica. Look!" Surprised that he had remembered to use her new name, Éponine turned around quickly. He beckoned her over and Éponine peered over the glass case, looking into the display.

"Pretty cool," she said, raising her eyebrows.

"More than just cool! These things could like shoot a gazillion miles." He held up his fingers and made little guns, blowing air out of his mouth to make gun noises.

"I highly doubt they shot a gazillion miles, but nice try."

"You know, they have a reenactment at four-thirty?" He turned his puppy eyes on, but Éponine was the wiser.

She laughed and ruffled his hair, leading him out of the garrison. "We've been here for two hours and done everything that we can. Let's go to dinner. Besides, Ryan is meeting us in twenty minutes."

Gavroche wrinkled his nose, walking slowly behind his sister. "_Fine_."

They reached the car and Éponine opened his door. "Thanks for being a good sport. I didn't think you would like coming here."

"Are you kidding?! It was great. I love guns! I wanna live there.."

"Yeah, not happening."

.::.

_May 15__th__; Red Robin._

.::.

Ryan met Éponine and Gavroche at the door of the only Red Robin within thirty miles. Ryan had been out doing some errands when Éponine called him up, asking if he wanted to have dinner with the two of them. He had accepted, excited to finally meet and talk to Gavroche for the first time.

Sitting down in a booth near the back, Gavroche flipped open his menu, hiding his face from Ryan, who sat across the table. Éponine groaned. It was normal for Gav to get nervous when meeting new people – especially young adult males. Because his father was absent all the time, Gavroche had always been used to seeing Montparnasse, Éponine's long-time, really shitty boyfriend. They'd bonded well together; and since then, Gavroche had always stuck around the boys Éponine brought home from college. He figured he seemed twenty percent cooler when they were around. To Éponine, it was endearing.

Éponine rolled her eyes and Ryan chuckled, tapping the menu. "Hey. Are you Walter?"

Gavroche slowly lowered the menu, squinting. "Yeah."

Ryan stuck out his hand. "Great to meet ya! I'm Ryan." Gavroche shook his hand slowly, before nodding again, and turning back to his menu. He smirked and turned to Éponine. "Tough little booger, huh?"

Éponine smiled. "You could say that." She leaned forward and whispered. "He's had a rough day."

Ryan glanced at Gavroche and then looked back at Éponine. "Oh. Sorry to hear that."

The waitress came over and took their orders, promising that their food would be out in twenty minutes. In the meantime, Gav had scampered off to go play some arcade games near the front with some money Ryan had given him.

Éponine shook her head. "You didn't have to do that."

"Actually, I did. Now you have to tell me about what shit he went through today, so I can know who to smack down!"

Éponine swallowed her laughter, licking her lips. She hadn't promised Gav she wouldn't tell anyone; just that she wouldn't do anything. And besides, Ryan was her closest friend at the moment. She could trust him.

"I don't think you'd wanna smack down a woman."

Ryan coughed suddenly, clutching his chest. After a fit of coughing, he pulled back, eyes wide. "Beer went down the wrong way," he rasped. "What was that you said?"

Éponine nodded, her face scrunched. "Yeah. Gav – Walter's teacher." She caught herself, taking a quick sip of her drink. That was the first time she'd ever slipped; hopefully, it would be her last. Ryan didn't seem to notice, though.

"_Teacher_?!" He slammed his hands on the table and bent forward, mouth gaping.

"Shhh! I told him I wouldn't do anything about it!" Éponine's finger flew to her lips, glancing over at the game center to see if Gav had heard them; he was too engrossed in his game.

"Oh my god, Ronny! Who is his teacher?"

"Cosette Pontmercy." Éponine lifted her hands to make room for the plates of food being set on the table.

"Are you serious?" Ryan frowned deeply. "That sweet little blonde chick that sometimes comes in with _Les Amis_?!"

Éponine shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. I've seen her there a couple of times before. But, how did you know?"

"The last name sounds familiar. I think she's married to one of the guys." Ryan ate a french fry and pointed to the games. "Do you wanna go get Walt or should I?"

Éponine shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me."

"I'll go." Ryan slid out of the booth, grabbed another fry, and went to go drag Gav away from the games.

Éponine felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She frowned. Every time someone had called her, she had missed it. Feeling her phone vibrate was foreign now. Éponine pulled her phone out, keeping it beneath the table just in case.

Bailey.

Sighing, Éponine knew she should take the call. She hadn't called him back and part of the Program was checking in once and awhile for the first six months. Éponine held the phone to her ear, sticking her finger in the opposite. Gavroche and Ryan came back, sliding into the same bench. Gav grabbed his food from across the table and slid it in front of him, smiling up at Ryan.

"I'm gonna take this outside. I'll be right back," Éponine whispered, darting out of the restaurant. "Hello?"

"_Éponine Jondrette, long time, no see."_

Éponine chuckled nervously. "Yeah, yeah, I guess." She parked herself on the bench outside, wrapping her free arm around her waist. A cool breeze blew over her, causing gooseflesh to prickle her arms.

"_How is everything in fair West Bath?"_

"As good as can be expected, I guess. We came up to Augusta today, just to see what we were missing." She watched the people walk past her into the restaurant, itching her shoulder.

Bailey laughed. _"Did you? Good, good. Look, I was calling because I haven't heard from you. You know, for the first six months you –"_

"Have to check in twice a month," Éponine finished, sighing loudly.

"_Why haven't you?"_

"I keep forgetting."

"_Well, now is your chance to fill me in. How was the transition been?"_

"Um, pretty good." Éponine stood up and began to pace. "Gav is doing really well in school. I got a job. Things – things are good."

"_I can't help but wonder if you're telling me the truth.."_

"Gav made have had an incident today at school, but that's –"

"_What kind of incident? Did he say anything?"_

"No, Bailey. His teacher was a jackass to him, that's it!"

"_Okay. Cool your jets." _Bailey sighed. _"I know this is hard, but you're doing great. Just keep me posted, okay? I've gotta run." _The line went dead without any other word.

Éponine shoved her phone into her pocket and walked back into the restaurant, hoping her face wasn't as red as it felt.

When she sat back down, Ryan asked, "Who was that?" Éponine glanced at Gav and winked; he giggled, looking at his lap. Ryan looked between the two of them. "What are you playing at?"

Éponine laughed, eating some of her salad. "Nothing! It was just my grandma."

"Yeah. _Sure. _I still think it's her secret boyfriend." Ryan elbowed Gavroche, who busted into laughter.

"You wish, Ryan."

"I do, in fact. I could be the Maid of Honor at their wedding."

"Never happening."

"You don't know that."

"I do!" Éponine smiled widely, staring at her brother, a fry in her hand. "I'm never getting married."

"Huh." Ryan scoffed, shaking his head. "Talk to me in, like, two years, and we'll see, honey."

_In two years, Ryan, Gav and I will have blown this popsicle stand and gone back to Florida where we belong._


	6. Art and Arguments

**A/N: I'm glad that you all are open to sharing your concerns with me! A lot of what you could be worrying about will be smoothed out somewhere in the story. :D**

**Once again, thank you for the reviews!**

**Now, some more of the **_**Amis.**_

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Five: _Art and Arguments_

.::.

_May 16__th__; The Café_

.::.

Éponine went to work an hour and a half early the next day. She'd procrastinated doing her homework on Thursday, no thanks to the trip to Augusta and Ryan coming back to the cabin and playing twelve rounds of Wii tennis with Gav.

Maybe, with the peace and quiet of the break room, she could get some work done.

Unlocking the back door, Éponine skirted into the break room and set her art portfolio down on the table. She got herself a water bottle from the mini-fridge beneath the counter and opened the cover of the portfolio. Since her school work had started up again, Éponine hadn't had the chance to start any major projects. Besides one free painting class and one sculpture class, the other two classes she was taking were heavily based on art history and art appreciation.

She was aching to get back to the easel and spinning wheel.

On top of the papers in her portfolio was her first graded assignment outline. She was to create something that personified her darkest secret. At first, Éponine immediately thought of creating something that vaguely represented her "double-life." But then her mind had drifted to her parents and what she had gone through as a child.

But those things were entirely too personal.

And Éponine didn't share them – with anyone.

So, she'd reverted back to her double-life secret.

It would be simple enough. She planned on using clay to create one head and on either side would be a face. She liked the idea, and if she was asked to explain her piece, she would make something up about being afraid to show her true personality.

But to her, it would be about her never ending string of lies and fake life.

Sitting down at the table, Éponine pulled out her sketch book and began sketching her ideas for the piece. An hour passed before the door opened and Ryan came in, talking quickly into his cell phone. She looked up from her sketch, which was nearly done, and closed the cover slowly. Ryan grumbled a goodbye and hung up, sighing deeply.

"What was that?" Éponine asked, cracking her fingers.

"My mom." Ryan rolled his eyes. "She wants to come and visit me."

"That sounds nice," Éponine said, rolling her shoulders and stretching her arms.

"Yeah, no, it's not nice." He slumped down into a chair at the table.

"Why?"

"Because I told her I was in a relationship, but she doesn't know that I'm – you know –"

Éponine raised an eyebrow. "Gay."

"Yeah, so would you –"

Éponine held up a hand, shaking her head. "Wait – wait, a second! You have a boyfriend? And you didn't tell me?"

Ryan blushed and ducked his head. "That's not the point."

"Yes, it is!" Éponine laughed and sat down across from him. "Who is he?!"

"Doesn't matter!" Ryan looked up, his voice tense. "Would you _please _pretend to be my girlfriend for like two hours?!"

"Um, no."

"Why not?" he whined, folding his hands together and pouting his bottom lip.

"Because that's a lie. And besides, I don't have time. Just – bring this boyfriend of yours."

Ryan groaned and threw his head back. "Uhh! You are no help!"

"Think of this as payback for not telling me." She stood up and kicked his shin lightly. "Come on. Who is he? And how long have you been dating?"

Ryan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Not that long. Maybe three months."

"And?"

"And his name is Grantaire – that guy from your school remember?"

Oh yes, Éponine remembered. She pushed off the table and swallowed hard. A Privileged One. Ryan was dating a Privileged. "Yeah, I remember," she whispered.

"He's – he's really great. I mean, his friends are asses, but he's not like them." Ryan stood up, following Éponine to the counter.

"Mhmm." Éponine grabbed a packet of sugar and poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot.

Ryan sighed. "I don't understand why you hate them so much. You have no reason to."

Though Ryan was technically correct, Éponine didn't want to own up to it. She poured the packet of sugar into her coffee and stirred vigorously. Before Ryan could say anything else or she could respond, June pushed open the swinging doors that led out to the café.

"If you're here, you might as well get started."

Ryan put a hand on Éponine's shoulder and squeezed. "Just.. think about it, okay? It would mean a lot if you did."

Éponine nodded and put the coffee down, staring blankly into the cup.

She hated coffee.

.::.

_May 16__th__; The Café._

.::.

_Les Amis _entered The Musain right on schedule. Éponine handed the man before her his order, her eyes trailing the group. She payed special attention to who was in attendance: Cosette and Grantaire were the only two she knew, but they were both there.

The thought of interacting with Cosette sent nervous shivers down Éponine's spine.

She glanced at Ryan, who was staring at Grantaire from across the room. His eyes flicked to hers and she smiled softly. He grinned in return.

"Excuse me, can I have a –"

Cosette.

Éponine turned around quickly and the blond's jaw dropped slightly.

"Veronica." Cosette's voice was breathy and shaky. "I – I didn't know you worked here."

Éponine scoffed, holding tightly to the edge of the counter. "Yeah, I do."

"That's nice." She nodded several times and looked over at the case full of pastries and such. After a tense moment, she laughed nervously. "Look, can we just talk about – about yesterday? I'm sure Walter told you –"

"What you said?" Éponine cocked her head to the side. "Yes, I think he mentioned it between sobs." Though he hadn't actually cried, Éponine was feeling particularly spiteful and her words had the effect she wanted on Cosette. The woman's eyebrows drew together and she stared at the counter, picking at the tape holding up a sign about credit cards.

"I'm sorry. It was.. out of line."

"Yes, it was."

Cosette looked up. "You know that – that I would never intentionally hurt a student."

"Really? If that were true, you would keep your comments to yourself."

"Well, you can't expect for my curiosity to just dwindle." She smirked and lowered her voice. "On the papers I received, there were no names for Walter's parents, so I just assumed you were his mother, but you didn't want to put your name down."

Éponine jaw clenched; her eyes hardened. "I will have you know that my parents are dead and I am _not _Walter's mother. Besides, were it true, it wouldn't be your business. So, I would suggest you keep your nosejob out of my brother's life and mine." By the end of her tirade, Éponine's voice was loud enough to be heard around the rest of the café. Her chest heaved and her cheeks were hot from emotion, but she wouldn't look away.

Cosette's eyes welled with tears. She turned to glance at the group and a man – her husband – came up behind her, putting an arm around Cosette's shoulder. Before he could say anything to Éponine, June came out of the kitchen and grabbed Éponine's elbow, pulling her into the kitchen, apologizing to Cosette and her husband profusely.

Once in the kitchen, June turned to Éponine. Éponine had expected for her to be livid, but instead, her face was soft and understanding. "What was that all about?" She nodded to the café where the normal ruckus of the Privileged Group had simmered into a soft, yet loud, murmur.

"She.. insulted my brother and I. She's his teacher." Éponine ran a hand over her face. She wasn't sorry for what she had said; she was only sorry that she could potentially lose her job over this.

June shook her head and clucked her tongue. "I can't condone what you did, Veronica."

"I know."

"But – off record – I can say I commend you, but only a little."

Éponine looked up quickly. "What? I was sure that you would.. fire me or something."

June shrugged. "As much as I love those kids out there – God, I've watched them grow up in that booth – but as much as I love them, they can be stubborn and rude. Especially Marius' wife. She's brand new – they've only been married two months or so – and I think she's having trouble finding her footing in the group. She used to be so kind and gentle, but these boys have made her all nervous and jittery. I think she doesn't want to let Marius down."

Éponine swallowed. "That's still no excuse for what she said."

"No. No, it isn't. I've seen those boys be vicious to people outside their little world. It's painful, really. They have such – such potential. And they waste it on buying drinks here and complaining about how small and crummy this town is. They could leave – make something of themselves, but they don't."

"That's not my problem, June. I'm just trying to get by."

"I know, love. And you and Ryan are the best employees I've had in years; I couldn't lose you. So, I'll say this: I think you owe Cosette somewhat of an apology – not today, but one day. Maybe you'll be able to break the shell off those kids, open their eyes to the real world."

Éponine shook her head and scoffed. "I highly doubt that."

"You never know until you try."

Éponine smiled, squeezing June's hand. "Thank you, June."

"Eh. I'm just an old store-keeper. Don't listen to me." She pointed to her chest. "Listen to this." She pointed to her head. "And this. Promise me that. I don't want you wasting your life like those boys."

Éponine nodded. "I promise."

.::.

_May 16__h__; The Cabin._

.::.

Éponine went home that evening beyond exhausted. In order to save her from further embarrassment and anger, June had allowed Éponine to go back into the break room and cool off for an hour or so. It gave her almost too much time to think about what she had done.

And what June had said.

Éponine parked in the long driveway and cut the engine, pulling her hair out of its strict ponytail. She walked up the drive, unlocked the door, and slipped inside. Though it was a Friday, Gav was already asleep – albeit on the couch with a movie playing. Éponine left him and went to her room, tossing her books and bag on the chair beside the door.

"_Maybe you'll be able to break the shell off those kids, open their eyes to the real world."_

Éponine could show them the real world all right. She could show them that sometimes – _most _of the time – life wasn't roses and buttercups and things weren't handed to you on a silver platter. She could tell them about all the times her father had made her steal drugs from the local drugs store as a child; or the time she was kicked out of the house at fifteen. She could show them the scars on her arms – ones caused by others and ones caused by herself. She could tell them about that time she lost her virginity to a thirty five year old man. Because her father had told her, if she wanted back in the house, she had to do this for him.

And Éponine wanted to come home.

What June had said slightly confused Éponine. If those boys – those _men –_ were rich kids indeed, wouldn't they have been taught about the "outside world?" Didn't they know?

June had made it sound like they were ignorant to people outside their realm.

Somehow, Éponine doubted that. Through her expert eavesdropping skills, Éponine had gathered little pieces of information here and there. From what she could tell, some of the young men were lawyers-in-training and had a passion for human rights. Ryan had gone on to affirm those speculations. Apparently, they held regular rallies and such in Augusta for a better government system in the state of Maine and the like.

That had surprised her, most definitely. How could boys who knew nothing of the hardships people like Éponine faced fight for their rights? It made no sense.

It only, once again, proved to her that rich people thought they knew best. Thought they knew what was right for all mankind.

So, sure, Éponine would take June up on the challenge. She would knock a load of sense into the pompous asses. They didn't know jack about her, but she would teach them.

Damn right, she would teach them.

* * *

**Now, before you go and tell me I don't have the **_**Amis' **_**personalities/story right, hear me out: So often I find that in these fanfictions, all of the boys are so kind and gentle and basically perfect. I don't really think that's true – in this case. Though, I've written them that way before, I wanted to experiment with something different. **

**They all grew up in a very small town with (supposedly) rich families. Part of me feels like they would be complete asses to anyone who isn't them, so that's what I'm trying to convey here for the first few chapters. Of course, things will (or will not) eventually change. (I can't give that away. hehe)**

**But for the time being, when more than half of them haven't even been introduced yet, I picture them stuck in their own little world with Éponine looking in from the outside and judging based on what she sees and hears from others. So, her interpretation of their character might be a little screwed up.**

**BEAR WITH ME, YO!**

**Love, Jess**


	7. Kudos

**A/N: Happy Valentine's Day!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Six: _Kudos_

.::.

_May 19__th__; Rosemar College_

.::.

With the beginning of a new week came the beginning of a new outlook for Éponine. She was intent on focusing solely on her art, her brother, work, and her friendship with Ryan. After apologizing for causing such a scene on Friday, Éponine had promised to pose as Ryan's girlfriend that Thursday night for supper with his mother. She wasn't looking forward to it, but it would definitely be an experience.

The weekend was also a nice time for her to settle down and turn the cabin into more of her home. Several boxes had arrived Saturday morning on the front porch – all from Bailey. They were things from the storage unit Éponine had been keeping, filled with things for her potential apartment in the future. It was quite a surprise, and certainly a much needed one. They'd torn the boxes open and found clothing, paintings, games, and general homey things. It all nearly made Éponine cry with homesickness and joy.

After her Art History class, Éponine had a class that basically was a workshop. You came in and did whatever assignments you had or whatever you felt like creating. It was the most relaxing time of day for Éponine. She entered the class, gave the professor, who really did nothing but sit as his desk all day, a polite nod and took the seat she always did: in the back, by the window looking out onto the campus park.

She sighed with contentment, a small smile on her face. Besides two other students, the class was empty and Éponine had free reign of all the clay and paint she could use for the next hour and a half. She decided to work on her project about her lie, setting about collecting clay and a small cup of water. Clearing off the desk, Éponine set her stuff down and got to work, occasionally glancing at her sketchbook to see if she was on the right track.

Halfway through her first draft of the sculpture (which wasn't coming out like she hoped), a book banged down on the desk. Éponine jumped and looked up, her hands clamping down on the sculpture, effectively smashing it.

"Oh, shit! Sorry!" Grantaire sat down across from Éponine, a smirk on his face. He put his pallet down on the desk and moved his easel and canvas closer to the desk, standing up, and rolling his sleeves.

Éponine shrugged, rolling her eyes. "Whatever. I was gonna do that anyway." She set back to molding the clay into a ball again.

Grantaire glanced at Éponine and then back to his canvas. "So, I wanted to offer you my congratulations, Veronica."

Surprised he remembered her name this time, Éponine stopped working and looked up. "What?"

"Yeah!You were on fire on Friday!" He chuckled and dabbed his brush into the green paint, spreading it onto the canvas.

"Oh. That." Her face heated.

"I've never seen Marius so pissed. I mean, usually Enj gets him kinda riled, but you made his face turn beet red. God! It was fucking priceless!"

"I'm – I'm sorry about that," Éponine whispered, surprised to hear the words come out of her mouth. She felt slightly bad for hurting Cosette in front of her husband, but if they had been alone, Éponine probably would have punched her – and she wouldn't have felt sorry then.

Grantaire shrugged. "We all get mad at Cosette a lot, actually. It's just a matter of who actually has the balls to do anything about it. Wouldn't have guessed that _you_ would do something. But then again, you are kind of a bitch."

Éponine's hand smashed into her new sculpture again. "God!"

"Shh!" A student next to her put her finger to her lips, frowning deeply.

"Sorry!" Éponine sighed and went back to molding.

Grantaire was silent, watching her, before saying: "I should stop that, huh?"

"Yeah." Éponine didn't look up from her work.

"So, West Beth. How'd you get stuck here?"

Éponine looked up.

So far, Ryan seemed to be right: Grantaire was the only one of the Privileged who had ever looked, much more, talked to her. She swallowed.

"My parents," Éponine said, which was not a lie.

"What about 'em?" Grantaire meticulously wiped something off of the canvas with the corner of his shirt. From where she was sitting, she couldn't tell what he was working on, but she was eager to see it.

"They died. So, I packed my brother up and we moved out of Kansas to anywhere. He put a pin on a map and here we are." She took a tool from beside her and carved detail into the neck of her head. Grantaire was silent.

"That's really dumb," he said.

Éponine chuckled, low and gravely. "I suppose so."

"Now, me, I've lived here all my life. I wouldn't come here willingly."

Éponine shrugged. "I think it's pretty quaint."

"You've been talking to June-Bug too much." Grantaire shook his head. "I just want to get out." He sighed and shrugged. "But it's not my time, I guess."

The two worked in an awkward silence for the next several minutes before Éponine said, "I know about you and Ryan – you know, dating."

Grantaire tensed suddenly, causing his paintbrush to swipe down the front of his canvas. "Shit," he whispered. Éponine smiled smugly to herself; he'd now ruined two of her sculptures. It was only fair she ruined one of his. Grantaire sighed, throwing a rueful smile at Éponine.

"I guess we're even," she said, handing him a rag. He took it, but shrugged, pulling the canvas off and going to a large trashcan in the back. He dumped it unceremoniously inside and then grabbed a new canvas off the shelf in the back.

"I didn't know you knew," he said quietly, his paintbrush poised to paint; his hand remained still for a long while.

"I didn't know it was a secret."

Grantaire raised his eyebrow, the brush finally falling onto the canvas. "Technically, it's not."

"But?"

"We just haven't said anything."

"Oh." Éponine grabbed a thin roll of clay and began to shape it into curls. "Not even to your friends?"

"Especially not them." Grantaire scoffed, shaking his head.

Intriguing enough. "Why?"

"They – they wouldn't understand. If you couldn't tell from staring at us from behind the counter," Grantaire said, pausing to give Éponine a smirk. "I'm different from the rest of them."

Éponine shook her head, a blush rising to her cheeks. Why did she have to blush so much? "Hadn't noticed."

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "Sure." He went back to painting. "They wouldn't be caught dead here, you know? They think that going to a prestigious college is so much better than actually going to a college where you get a good education, not a good imagine, or whatever."

Éponine felt her stomach clench. "Then.. why do _you_ go here?"

"The University of Maine's art program sucks."

"Oh," Éponine said, turning back to her work. "They sound –"

"Awful, I know. But when you get to know them, they aren't bad at all. It's just.. how they were raised, I guess."

She cocked her head to the side. "You weren't raised the same?"

"Hell no!" Grantaire laughed. "My dad skipped town when I was born and my mom sold drugs until she died of an overdose. Their parents paid for their college, yada, yada, made of money. The whole nine yards. God, even Jehan's parents are rich as hell and that kid is a hippie!"

Éponine had been right. "So why are you friends with them?"

Grantaire looked at Éponine sharply, the smile gone from his face. He narrowed his eyes slightly. She swallowed, realizing she had probably said the wrong thing. "You've got a lot of guts, Veronica."

"Yeah?" Éponine stood up slowly, grabbing a plastic container from behind her, her hands shaking slightly.

"I like that, but you're gonna get yourself into a heap of trouble if you keep assuming that all rich kids are shit on a stick." He paused. "What I said about them being awful is true; they are pretty awful. But – but deep down, they aren't."

She carefully wrapped her piece in some paper towels and then laid it on its side in the container, putting Styrofoam wedges on either side to keep it from rolling around. She chose not to answer, instead packing up her things. "I'll see you later, Grantaire. Thanks for... chatting."

He looked away from his canvas for a second, nodding. "Yeah. See you tonight at the café, right?" She nodded, holding her books in one hand and her container in the other. "Maybe I can introduce you to the guys?"

She swallowed nervously. "Yeah, maybe."

_Not on your life_, she thought as she left the class as quickly as possible.

.::.

_May 19__th__; The Café._

.::.

"I met Grantaire today," Éponine said casually, drying another mug and setting it on the rack.

Ryan looked up from the soapy water. It wasn't yet time for them to go out to start serving, but they were at the café, like usual, early; so instead of lounging around in the break room, they'd decided to wash some of the dishes in the sink.

"Did you?"

"In my free art class."

"That's nice." Ryan nodded slowly, gauging Éponine's reaction. "And?"

"And you're right," she whispered, staring at the white mug in her hand. "He does seem.. different."

Ryan grinned. "I knew you would come around!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Don't get ahead of yourself, Ryan. Just because I don't think your boyfriend is an ass, doesn't mean I don't think the rest of them are asses."

Ryan chuckled and went back to washing the dishes. "Fair enough."

The door swung open and June poked her head through. "Ryan, you can start. I want to talk to Veronica for a few moments."

Ryan shot her a slightly worried look and then grabbed his apron, throwing it on, and exiting to the counter. June watched him leave and then looked at Éponine.

"What's up, boss?" Éponine asked, a nervous smile on her face.

June's instant grin calmed her nerves. "You know the boys will be here tonight."

"Of course." Éponine nodded, her hands on her hips, curling around the edges of her shirt.

"I want you to talk to them – just to see what they're like. I may have painted them in a bad light the other night. I've known those kids all their lives; I treat them like my own sons, and mainly, I pick out their faults, but they had wonderful qualities, too."

_What is with everyone thinking they're horrid and then taking it back?! _"I don't know, June. I – I made such a scene and if she is there –" Éponine trailed off, leaving her thought hanging in the air.

June patted Éponine's arm. "Just think about it, hun. Will you do that for me?" Éponine couldn't help but nod. "Alright. Now get out of here!" She swatted Éponine with her rag and Éponine scampered into the main area of the café, tying her apron just as the door opened and _Les Amis _arrived right on schedule.

She didn't miss the glance that exchanged between Ryan and Grantaire.

Ryan nudged her with his elbow. "Look. Cosette is missing."

Éponine had already done a headcount. It looked as if three of the normal attendees were missing. Curious; rarely did any one of the Privileged miss coming to the café in the evening.

She continued wiping down the counter, nodding. "Odd." Turning away, Éponine continued about her work. Ryan took over the register and they worked side-by-side for the better part of an hour before the first of Privileged waltzed up to the counter.

It was Grantaire.

Éponine turned around from one of the coffee machines and gave him a small smile when he looked her way. Ryan swiveled his head to look at her and beckoned her over. "This is the perfect time to fulfill June's challenge," he whispered in her ear.

Éponine pulled. "I – I don't –"

"I eavesdropped," Ryan admitted, smirking. "Go meet them."

"Yeah." Grantaire said, unfolding his arms. "The two of you."

Both Ryan and Éponine gulped.

_They can't be that bad_, Éponine thought as Grantaire led her and Ryan to the booth. _Can they?_

"Guys," Grantaire said, clearing his throat. The murmur of the booth disappeared quickly; soon, every head was facing the trio. "This is Veronica –"

"There's no way I could forget you." The man who had the oddly shaped nose, the one who had been sort-of kind when Éponine went over to get the Privileged Group's orders that first night, stood up and shook her hand roughly. "I'm Richard Bahorel; we go by our last names here. Pleased to meet you – finally." Éponine laughed nervously, her hand crushed in Bahorel's.

Grantaire glared at Bahorel and shoved him back into his seat. "And this is Ryan Horton, my.. boyfriend."

At first, the group was quiet. Éponine held her breath. Beside her, she saw Grantaire slip his hand into Ryan's and give it a squeeze. Then, a small voice from the back, spoke up, "Congrats, but we already knew."

Éponine, Ryan, and Grantaire breathed a sigh of relief. Grantaire pulled up a chair for Ryan and Éponine scooted onto the bench Bahorel sat on; she turned her head to look at the counter. June stood behind it, her thumbs up. Éponine blushed and looked away. After the boys had gotten through arguing about Grantaire's "secret" love life, introductions began:

"Aiden Courfeyrac." A man with hair slightly like Grantaire's raised his hand.

"Ezra Combeferre." Another man, his brown hair styled into a quiff, with thin, round glasses on his nose, and a strong chin of stubble nodded once.

"Jehan Prouvaire." A man with long, rough blond hair tied into a tight bun smiled brightly.

"Derek Feuilly." Brown hair, nondescript; a sketchbook with drawings of fans lay in front of him.

"Owen Bossuet." Tall, very tan, bald; well built like Bahorel.

"Adam Joly." A mousy man, thin brown hair, looked up from a medical book.

"The resident hypochondriac studying to become a doctor," Bahorel said, leaning in close to Éponine. She almost laughed, but kept it in.

"And, of course, we're missing Marius and Cosette Pontmercy," Grantaire continued, picking up the beer bottle in front of him. "And, the most important, Jack Enjolras."

Éponine felt a cold sense of dread and awkwardness settle over the _Amis. _Looking to Ryan, they shared a confused look, shrugging their shoulders.

"So, where are you from?" The man with long hair, Jehan, asked, pulling out the pencil from between his lips. He stared directly at Éponine.

She swallowed, caught off guard by the fact that they all seemed perfectly _normal _and that he was asking _her_. "Um – Kansas."

"Do you miss it?" He cocked his head to the side, seeming genuinely interested.

Éponine throat constricted. "Yes," she managed to say.

"Fuck." Grantaire stood up quickly. "You two had better go."

"What? Why?" Jehan frowned, sharing a look with Joly. They turned toward the door and winced. "Yeah, on second thought, it was nice meeting you."

Grantaire hauled Éponine up by her arm and gently shoved the two of them away. "We'll talk during class," he whispered to her. "Tomorrow."

Too stunned and confused to answer, Éponine could only nod, walking quickly to the counter. The front door opened as they reached the apparent safety of their work stations. Ryan went to Éponine's side and nudged her, pointing to the door.

Oh, so that was why.

Two men, evidently Marius Pontmercy and Jack Enjolras, strolled in. The booth had returned to their normal conversations, though sometimes one of the boys would throw a glance over at the counter, and the conversation was obviously stilted.

Éponine frowned, scoffing, turning away. For a minute there, she had thought she'd been wrong about them.


	8. Explanations and a Walk

**A/N: On Enjy-poo and Marius-poo being dicks: All I can say it, trust me. ;)**

**Thank you, once again, for all of your support!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Seven: _Explanations and a Walk_

.::.

_May 20__th__; Rosemar College_

.::.

The next day found Éponine in her free Art Class, sitting in the back, as per usual. Having finished and turned in her lie project for her sculpture class, she had no discernible project to complete; though her professor for her painting class had assigned a new project that didn't have any required criteria, Éponine had yet to find inspiration. Her mind was too full of worries and thoughts to think of art and paintbrushes.

Having wasted away the last block of her day looking out the window, a pencil poised in hand, never reaching the paper, Éponine packed her things together and left the class in a flurry. She had expected to see Grantaire; she had expected to receive some sort of an explanation about what had happened the night before.

But he had never showed up.

The sting of being pushed away from the night before and being stood up during class pooled in Éponine's stomach. Her footsteps pounded on the sidewalk as her pace quickened. She reached her car and set her things on the roof. Éponine fished for her keys, hair sticking to her cheeks damp with angry tears. She unlocked her car and let go of a shaky sigh.

Her life was in pieces.

She lived in a state where the only people she knew were her coworker, her boss, and her coworker's boyfriend. She went to school day after day learning about the thing she loved most, but she didn't put it to use. Her job was hardly ideal and did not agree with her school schedule. Her parents were in jail and her brother had been ridiculed at school because of his family.

_Everything _was a mess.

Éponine let out a strangled cry as she sat down inside her car, slamming the door shut. All she wanted was to feel safe and included somewhere in the world. It was obvious that would never happen.

Turning on the car, Éponine gripped her hands on the wheel. She pulled out and was met with a large hand slapping the hood of her car. Éponine screeched and slammed on the breaks. Grantaire rushed to her side window and motioned for her to roll it down. Éponine pressed the button and kept her face stolid as the window rolled down slowly.

Grantaire smiled. "Hey," he said, leaning his hands on the door, his fingers curling into the window frame. Éponine didn't answer. "Sorry I wasn't at class. Got super drunk last night and couldn't make it in today. I wasn't going to come at all, but then I remembered how I promised to tell you about yesterday."

"Yeah?" Éponine's voice was unimpressed. Her brows drew together into a tight line.

Grantaire nodded, swallowing, slightly out of breath. "Want to go for a walk? I know a burger joint on the corner of campus." He cocked his head in the general direction of where he wanted to go.

Éponine, eager to hear what he had to say, sighed and nodded. "Sure."

.::.

_May 20__th__; Rosemar College Park._

.::.

Nature had always been an escape for Éponine.

Ever since she could remember climbing a tree or taking a walk had always calmed her down in moments of crisis. And today, not unlike any other day in Florida, walking in the Rosemar College Park was extremely peaceful. Having Grantaire beside her was also calming as well (as much as she hated to admit it to herself).

"So," she finally said, walking slowly, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jeans.

"Right – so." Grantaire cleared his throat. "About yesterday." He smiled to his shoes.

Éponine laughed, the sound hasty and off-beat. "Yeah, what was that?" Her smile was a bit too bright to be considered happy.

"You know how I told you everyone was an ass?"

"Yes." Éponine's eyes returned to the path in front of them.

"Well, mainly, it's Jack who is the biggest ass."

"Jack?"

"Jack Enjolras." Grantaire pulled a leaf off the tree beside him, ripping it to shreds. "The head honcho; the big cheese; the instigator of it all –"

Éponine sighed. "The leader?"

Grantaire rolled his eyes. "Yep. He was the one who came in with Marius last night –"

"I remember."

"He's the bitchiest of us all, really. That's why everyone acts so awful. Because of Jack's – you know – feelings toward people who aren't rich and don't live in three story houses, and because he's the main man of the group, everyone sort of took on that same feeling."

Éponine shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek. "I'm – I'm not following you."

Grantaire stopped walking and put his hands on Éponine's shoulders, pulling her to face him. "Veronica, the reason everyone got all clammy when you and Ryan came over was because of Jack. When he came back from God-knows-where everyone had to pretend like they disliked you again."

Against her own will, Éponine felt tears prick the back of her eyes. She swallowed, wringing her hands together, looking away, squinting her eyes. "They dislike us?" she heard herself ask. Instantly, she wished she could swallow the words again.

Grantaire couldn't see how this hurt her.

Grantaire shrugged, letting go of her shoulders. "I couldn't say. Marius and Enjolras don't – that they've made clear. They always rag on June's employees. As for the rest of the guys, they probably enjoy you well enough. But after hearing what Jack preaches twenty-four-seven, it can get pounded into your head. Soon, you start believing it, too."

"What – what about you?"

Grantaire smiled softly. "I wasn't raised like those guys. I don't share the same views."

"Sounds like they don't share them either." Éponine wiped the back of her hand over her cheek, turning away.

"You could argue that. I just wanted to tell you." Grantaire licked his lower lip, his brow furrowed. "You still up for burgers?"

Éponine shook her head, looking down the path. They hadn't gotten very far; she could still make out her car just barely. "No, thanks, though," she whispered, hugging her waist.

Grantaire nodded, understanding. "I getcha. Hey. Do you work tonight?"

"Don't work Tuesdays."

"Oh.." He sounded disappointed. "Probably just as well. What about Ryan?"

"Neither does he, as far as I know." She was already walking toward her car. "Thanks for telling me everything, Grantaire."

He nodded, waving awkwardly as she got father away. "See you tomorrow. I'll be there during class!"

Éponine nodded before turning and rushing to her car, this time, letting her tears flow freely.

.::.

_May 20__th__; The Cabin._

.::.

She found it quite irritating, actually, that boys who she didn't care about and had promised to hate effected her in such a way. Éponine tried her best to always swallow her tears. Crying – especially in public – was a sign of weakness. Éponine _was not _weak.

Drained of any energy, Éponine pulled into the driveway half-dead. Her shoulders ached and her eyes were red from crying on the drive home. Gavroche was on the front stoop, drawing with chalk. He looked up when Éponine got to the step, at first happy to see her, then concerned by her state.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Innocent enough, but Éponine didn't feel like answering. "Nothing." She stepped past him and went into the house, leaving the front door open so she could feel the breeze come through the screen door. After a few moments of deep breathing at the table, Éponine frowned. "Gav?" She went to the screen door.

He looked up, a smudge of chalk on his cheek. "Yeah?"

"Why aren't you in school? You shouldn't be home for another hour and a half."

He colored, shrugging, looking back at his drawings. "I didn't go today."

"Yes, you did." Éponine threw open the door, not in the mood for Gavroche's petty games. "Get inside!" He dropped his chalk and stomped into the house, his arms crossed. "I dropped you off!"

Gav sighed. "Not this morning you didn't."

"What are you talking about?! Of course I did!"

"You forgot me this morning, so I stayed home." Gav rose his shoulder nearly to his ears, sticking out his arms.

Éponine's stomach sank. She racked her brain for any memory of that morning, but none came. She must have been too preoccupied with what Grantaire would say to her during class. "Did I?" She sat down at the table slowly, clutching the edge. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize! I missed school!"

Éponine fought hard to smile. Her lips turned up, but her eyes filled with tears. Within a few seconds, she was sobbing, her head in her hands. Gav patted her shoulder, bending to try and peer up through Éponine's curtain of hair.

"What's wrong?!" he asked several times, each time getting no answer. After a couple of minutes, he ran to the desk by the window, grabbing the only house phone. "I'm calling Bailey!"

Éponine sat up straight. "What? Gavroche, no!" Her voice was thick with emotion and phlegm.

"He told me to ever call if ever there was an emergency!" Gav had already dialed the number and had the phone practically glued to his ear. "Hello. Is Bailey there? I don't know his first name." He paused and Éponine wiped her nose, grabbing a tissue from the box off the counter. "Oh. Gavroche. Last name? Th – Jondrette. Okay." He handed the phone to Éponine. "He's coming."

Éponine ruffled his hair, smiling slightly. "Why don't you go finish your drawings outside?"

Gav smiled, returning to his post on the front stoop.

"_Hello?" _

"Hey. It's Éponine."

"_Nice of you to call and not me!" _Bailey laughed. As odd as it was, the sound helped Éponine to calm down. She went to her room and closed the door, sitting down on the edge of the bed. _"Just checking in?"_

"Yeah. If it's not too much trouble?"

"_I've got twenty minutes before I have a meeting. Lay it all on me. Oh! And before you do, I want to apologize for hanging up on you last time. I had a call I had to run out on real fast."_

Éponine found herself smiling, staring at her hand. "It's fine."

"_So, what's eating at you?"_

Éponine fought with herself for a moment: she could tell Bailey the truth about feeling hurt and end up sounding like a whiny schoolgirl, or she could pretend she had something to go take care of and hang up. "There's this group of boys at the café that I work at, and they're all extremely rich and – and frankly awful and –"

"_Are you going to complain to me about boys, Éponine?" _Though Bailey's tone was full of humor, his remark shut Éponine up quickly.

She shook her head, though she knew he couldn't see her. "No. No, of course not."

"_Well, if you were, it would have been okay, but –"_

"No, Bailey. I wasn't going to. Just forget about it. You've got to get to your meeting, anyway."

"_Wait, Éponine. Kid, if –"_

Éponine switched the phone to her other ear. "Gotta go, Bailey! Bye! We'll talk next month, okay?" Before he could answer this time, Éponine hung up and flung herself back onto her bed, throwing her arm over her eyes.

Thursday would mark one month of living in West Bath.

Éponine wasn't exactly sure she could make it for the rest of her life without going insane. If her job at The Musain continued to cause her anxiety and fear and unwarranted sadness, Éponine would have to look elsewhere for work – as sad as that made her. She had only two more months left of school before she graduated. She hoped she would be able to find some sort of job that both allowed her to thrive in the art community and make a good pay.

Sighing, Éponine rolled over onto her stomach and propped her hands beneath her chin. She pulled her pillow over and rested her head on the soft fabric. She'd had enough emotions for one day – maybe even for the next week.

With a heavy heart and full brain, Éponine fell into a deep sleep.


	9. Prince Jack

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Eight: _Prince Jack_

.::.

_May 22; West Bath Municipal Library (the one next to the café, not across from it)._

.::.

Éponine had called in sick to the café on Wednesday, claiming a migraine. She didn't feel as if she were ready to return to work after what had happened. She spent the day researching possible jobs and had come up with nothing, which was utterly disappointing. So, on Thursday, the day of no classes _or _work, she'd decided to go into town and visit one of the two libraries. It wasn't that Éponine was particularly fond of reading or even libraries for that matter; she was simply eager to get out of the house and go somewhere that wasn't work or the school to pick up Gavroche.

She pushed open the door to the library when she reached it, titling her head up when she heard the _ting _of the tiny bell attached to the door. Glancing around, Éponine took in the shelves of books lined up the walls, which were at least eight or nine feet tall. Several ladders were attached to poles that hung horizontally across the bookshelves to allow better access. Though the building was small, the owners had managed to squeeze in as many tables and chairs as possible, leaving little room for mobility. To her left, a metal, spiraling staircase lead to another floor, which apparently held even more books.

Éponine decided to take the stairs, not wanting to speak with any of the few people in the library at the time. She'd much rather browse on her own. Her shoes echoed on the cold metal as she took the winding staircase up. It was considerably colder on the top floor; probably because the ceiling was mainly made from sky lights and there was a slight draft. There were four rows of gray, metal bookcases and one long bookcase that spanned the whole premier of the small room. Éponine could see a door with a sign that read "Employees Only" in the back.

Sighing resolutely, Éponine trailed slowly down the first row, her fingers slipping in and out of the curves of the book spines. She didn't look at the books; she faced forward, humming softly to herself. Stopping at the end of the shelf, Éponine cocked her head to the side, pursing her lips. Coming to the realization that going library was really the stupidest idea she'd has in while, Éponine was about to turn around and leave when she heard two pairs of footsteps coming up the stairs.

She froze, at first, and then hid behind the back of the bookcase, pressing herself up against the cold metal.

"Honestly, Marius, I don't see why it's a big deal," the first voice, a man, said, growing louder as he got closer to the room.

"It – it is a big deal, Enjolras, because this is my first child!" Marius scoffed and Éponine strained to listen, recognizing the men's names from the café.

"Don't you think you're overreacting? Just a tad?" Éponine could hear a book being pulled from the third shelf. She inched away from the back of the case she was glued to, listening to the footsteps come closer and closer to the end of the row. "Babies happen all the time. Uprooting your family, moving to Augusta, that all seems pretty rash."

Éponine moved to the bookcase attached to the wall, frowning at the spines. _Cosette and Marius? Move? What would that mean for her job? _She pulled the first book she saw slowly out of the shelf, still straining her ears.

"Jack," Marius' voice grew low and the footsteps stopped. "Enjolras – excuse me. Enjolras, this is not about you anymore. This is about me and my wife and my child. I can't make a decent living for them in West Bath, you know that."

"No, actually. I don't."

Éponine turned her head to the left slightly and frowned. Who did this guy think he was? Their keeper?

She heard Marius slap a bookcase. "Dammit, Enjolras! I'm moving – get that through your thick skull! This is bigger than _Les Amis_, and pointless rallies that do no good. This is about what my future holds now. We aren't in high-school anymore –"

"I know that." His voice was hard and condescending. "But really –"

"No, Enjolras, let me finish!" Another slap to the bookcase. "Do you think I wanted my wife of _two months _to get pregnant? Don't get me wrong – I want kids, but in a couple of _years. _Okay, this is not what I had planned. So, you can take your new worries about who is going to be your "second in command" and shove them up your ass!"

"Marius –"

"No. Save it. We move out next Tuesday, but I can't come to the café anymore." Marius sighed and his voice lowered to a defeated whisper. "That's just how it has to be. I'm sorry." Éponine heard him leave the room quickly, his footsteps loud and harsh on the metal floor.

Everything was metal up there.

She put the book that she'd been holding for a good ten minutes back into its space on the shelf. She turned to go, thoroughly embarrassed by being privy to the argument, but also slightly intrigued: if Cosette was moving, could Éponine get a job at the school? It wasn't completely impossible; she'd minored in elementary education.

"You know, eavesdropping is terribly rude. And I've begun to notice that you're quite keen on listening in on every conversation you're around." Enjolras' voice was slimy; Éponine cursed under her breath; being caught was not something that happened often. Usually, she was so quick on her feet; maybe living in one place for so long without pulling any jobs was slowing her down.

"Actually, it wasn't my intention to listen to that ridiculous banter. I was just stuck; I didn't know where to go." The excuse was lame, Éponine knew, but no alternatives came to mind. She still couldn't see Enjolras from where she stood, but she recognized his voice from work. She walked two steps closer and came to the end of the first bookshelf, curling her hand around the corner.

She heard him scoff quietly. "Of course. When I hear an argument, the first thing I do is stay where I am and not move an inch either. It really helps me.. _blend in_ with my surroundings." Enjolras stepped out from the row and leaned on the bookshelf, crossing his arms, an unflattering frown on his face. He must have been six feet tall leaning, so when he stood full height a few seconds later, Éponine was not surprised to see that he was at least six foot two. His hair, a dark blond, bordering on brown, had recently been cut dramatically; it used to be a mop of curls, but now was more like Combeferre's hair: a quiff and softer looking.

At his comment, Éponine put her hands on her hips, frowning deeply. "Just who do you think you are?!"

He shrugged, sighed, and looked to the left. "No one of importance." He picked at his nail.

"Really? I find that hard to believe because you just had the audacity to tell a man what he can and cannot do with his life!"

Enjolras shook his head, narrowing his eyes. "No. No, no, no, no. _I _said nothing about what he can and cannot do. Marius has control of his own life. _He _was the one who made it sound like I was trying to control him. You – you know, I don't even know why I'm arguing with you about this." He swiped his hand through the air, closing his eyes, and turning away. "It's not like _you're _of any importance."

Éponine swallowed, her nose twitching. "That may be so, but I find it very odd to think that someone who spends so much time preaching about equality could stand here and tell me that without wanting to preach to himself."

Enjolras' head snapped to look at Éponine with sharp eyes. "You have no right to talk to me about equality. If it wasn't for me, your people –"

Éponine felt her mouth go dry as she remembered those words being said to her before. She felt the obscene urge to laugh; it bubbled in her throat and escaped suddenly, loud and crass, echoing in the metal room. "My – my people?! Jesus, you're two-faced!" She wiped the corner of her lip. "Besides, it's not like _you _are the only one who has ever fought for the plight of "my people." Really, how self-absorbed can you be?"

The young man folded his arms across his chest, looking toward the staircase. His face grew blank and uninterested. A woman, petite and blond, bounded up the stairs, her heels clicking; she glanced at Enjolras and Éponine before browsing through the aisles. Éponine shifted her bag up onto her shoulder higher, gripping the strap tighter.

"Well, I should really be going, _Jack._" Éponine smirked, swiping the first book off the bookshelf next to her, holding it against her chest.

Enjolras narrowed his eyes. "I assume you will be at the café this evening?" The sudden change of topic caught Éponine off guard; she faltered for a second, but then regained her ground.

Éponine was already halfway to the stairs when she raised her right hand and flicked him off. "Don't work Thursdays. Besides, wouldn't serve you if you were the last man on earth, asshole."

.::.

_December 31__th__ – five years earlier; Thenardier house._

.::.

_Standing on her toes, Éponine counted all of the items within the kitchen cabinet. At the table, five-year-old Gavroche patiently waited for supper. She turned and gave him a reassuring smile before going back to counting._

_One tomato._

_Half of a cabbage._

_One can of tuna._

_One can of pea soup._

_She sighed heavily and pulled out everything in the cabinet, setting it on the counter. "How do you feel about a tuna sandwich, Gav?" The boy made a face and Éponine couldn't help but agree internally. "Yeah, I know, but it's all we have."_

"_Yuck," he said, sticking out his tongue._

_Éponine frowned and clenched her teeth, grabbing the can-opener from the drawer at her side. "Deal with it, okay? Mom and Dad won't be home until," she paused and stopped opening the can. "I don't know when they will be home."_

"_Mommy!" Gavroche smiled; his front gums missing two teeth. At the age of five, he was much further behind than most other children. He could speak, yes, but he chose not to, and when he did, they were one word sentences. To Éponine, it was aggravating and embarrassing; to her parents, the development of their son didn't matter. _

_Pour the can of soup into a pot on the stove, Éponine lit the stove and opened the can of tuna, dumping it into a separate bowl. Just as she reached for a knife to cut the tomato and cabbage, the doorbell rang. Both Éponine and Gavroche froze, looking toward the corridor that led to the front door. _

_Their parents had left earlier that afternoon to go get ready for a party that evening, since it was New Year's Eve. They wouldn't be back until late the next day – possibly even days later. It was rare that someone knocked on their door. Éponine figured that the exterior of their house which was overgrown with weeds and paint chippings from the siding scared everyone away._

"_Just stay there," she said, setting the knife down on the counter. Éponine slowly walked down the dark hall, squinting at the light coming from the windows beside the door. _

_Who had left the porch light on? _

_Looking through the peep hole, Éponine saw nothing and wondered why she had even tried. The peep hole had been clogged with dust for years. She unlocked the door and opened it a crack; her face was met with a sharp draft that instantly froze her nose and cheeks._

"_Hello?" Squinting her eyes from the suddenly light glaring off the snow and the snow still falling, Éponine was unable to see who was at the door._

"_Can you please open the door fully, miss?" The voice was gruff, but sincere sounding._

_She opened her eyes and saw a uniformed officer – two of them. Her heart beat quickly. What had she done for her father throughout the past couple of days? She'd done as least one job at a grocery store; and one at the Golden Corral, too._

"_Is there something wrong?" she asked, looking up._

"_We'd like to ask you a few questions, young lady." The first officer, dark skinned and built, pulled out a pad of paper; his partner was the palest of pale and scrawny. It nearly made her chuckle. _

"_Okay. Do you wanna come in or something?"_

"_No. This will take only a few minutes," the second officer said, smiling through a tight jaw._

"_Are you sure? It's snowing." _

_The officers didn't reply and so Éponine wrapped her arms around her middle, the chill falling onto her bare arms._

"_Miss, what do your parents do for work?"_

_Éponine itched the back of her neck. "They – uh – they work in resale." Close enough._

_He wrote something down and his partner looked over onto the road, watching a car whiz by. "What kind of resale work?"_

"_Well, they own a store." _

_He finally looked up, an eyebrow arched. "A store?"_

_Éponine swallowed. "Yeah."_

_Slowly, the officer closed his pad of paper. "Let me put this to you straight: your parents are in a heap of trouble. We know what they're up to and we know what you're up to as well."_

_Éponine felt her head spin; she grabbed the doorknob._

"_Either you fess up and receive minimal punishment or you don't fess up and you potentially go to jail. You and your kind of people dirty this town and we need you out. D'ya hear?"_

"_Hey, Joe. Back off a little."_

"_No, Harry! Shut up. Get in the car, for Pete's sake!" The first officer pushed the second away, who shot Éponine a worrying glance before jogging to the car. He turned back to her and stood up straight. "Just think about it, okay?" He tipped his hat and left._

_Éponine slammed the door shut the second he turned away._

_She rushed back to the kitchen and grabbed the knife, slamming away at the cabbage and tomato; she could hear Gavroche watching something in the living room._

"_You and your people."_

_The words bounced around in her head like they were trapped in a pin-ball machine. What did they mean – her people? Éponine had always known that she was different. She was poorer than everyone else at school; maybe a little rougher, too, but did she really have her own set of people? Was she _that _different? _

_What was it?_

_Her skin? She was tanner than most._

_Her eyes? They were dark._

_Her parents? – their job? – _her _job?_

_Was her way of life – the only life she'd known – so bad that she needed to be classified in a group? It wasn't like she wanted to lie or steal or cheat her way through life, but she had to; there was no other choice._

_She didn't need her "own people."_

_She was just – just like anyone else._

_Letting out a strangled cry, Éponine threw the knife across the room, watching with satisfaction as it pressed into the wall. _

_No. She was her own person._

_She wasn't in a group of people._

_She wasn't labeled by anyone but herself._

_She cursed, turning toward the stove, trying to settle her emotions. What she saw brought tears to her eyes and the anger back into her blood:_

_The soup had burnt._

* * *

**A/N: First item of business: Yay! They finally met! How do you feel about their first interaction?**

**Second: After reading a lot of articles on flashbacks and such, the most common theme was advising against flashbacks because they can prove to be very confusing in the long run. **_**But **_**I went ahead and threw this one in for two reasons. One being I think it showed some of Éponine's past struggles and how she dealt with them and how that correlated with how she is dealing with being part of the Program. The second (and most important) being things from her past reoccurring and how they effected her then versus now. Does that make any sense at all? I dunno. **

**Let me know!**

**- Jess**


	10. Playing Matchmaker

**A/N: Just wanted to say a quick thank you to **_**judybear236 **_**for being my fabuloso beta and sticking by me for pretty much all of my stories on here! Thank you – thank you – thank you, love! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Nine: _Playing_ _ Matchmaker_

.::.

_May 23__rd__; The Caf__é._

.::.

Éponine popped a small tomato into her mouth and continued her story. "I mean, honestly, he's the biggest ass I've ever met!" She shook her head and sighed, leaning back in the chair.

Sitting at a small, wooden two-person table in the front of the café, Éponine and Ryan shared a BLT sandwich and potato chips before their evening shift started. Éponine recounted her tale of rude rich boys and the drafty library to her friend, complete with arm motions and nearly knocking over her soda. Ryan hadn't said a word during the entire story, only chuckled here and there and continuously nodded.

Ryan finally responded after a few moments of thick silence. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say to all of this."

Éponine shrugged, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, I didn't know what you would say either."

"I think you need to get a boyfriend." Ryan picked up a chip and split it in half. "Oh, and by the way, my mom canceled for dinner tonight. Looks like you don't have to be my pseudo-girlfriend anymore."

"I'd nearly forgotten about that.."

"Anyway, you need a boyfriend," Ryan repeated, gauging her reaction.

Éponine glanced over to where _Les Amis _would be sitting in an hours time; the booth looked so desolate and lonely when they weren't there. She titled her head to the side, wondering what it would be like if she didn't have to deal with them.

"Éponine!"

She turned her head quickly, a faint blush on her cheeks. "What?! Sorry.."

Ryan sighed heavily, taking a bite out of his half of the sandwich. "_You – need – a – boyfriend._"

"I do not!"

"Yes, you do." Ryan blew out a deep breath. "Honey, your life is consumed by those guys. All you ever talk about is art or Grantaire's friends. Now, before you get defensive, I'm only saying it can get tedious. I think you need something else to think about."

Éponine bit the side of her nail. "I don't know, Ry."

"Ronny, come on! Go out with me and Grantaire tonight. We'll hook you up!" He leaned forward, a glint in his eyes. He stuck out his lower lip, raising his brows. "Please?! _Pour moi_?"

Against her better judgment, Éponine found herself nodding slowly. She wouldn't allow him to find her a boyfriend – that was for sure. Éponine was in no state for any sort of relationship other than platonic; but going out for the evening sounded nice. Gavroche was already sleeping over at a friend's house, so she didn't have to worry about him either.

"Fine, fine! I'll go." She smiled as Ryan jumped up to wrap his arms around her shoulders from the side.

"You will not regret this, Ronny! I promise."

_I better not, _she thought, standing up to go get ready for their shift.

.::.

_May 23__rd__; 47__th__ Street._

.::.

The only club anywhere near West Bath was in Brunswick, about fifteen minutes away. Brunswick, though considerably larger than West Bath, was just as sleepy as West Bath. After Éponine and Ryan had finished their shifts around ten-thirty, Grantaire had left _Les Amis _early, meeting Éponine and Ryan by Ryan's car parked out back. They drove to the club – 47th Street – blabbing about their weeks over everyone else after Éponine had convinced Grantaire to take her home so she could change. A black mini-skirt and loose graphic tee was much better than worn out jeans and a Musain t-shirt – at least, they were in Éponine's opinion.

Grantaire pulled into a large parking lot on the side of the club, parking near the entrance. The place looked empty, besides the cars in the lot, but Éponine could already hear the music from inside the car. Her stomach buzzed with nerves; it'd been a long time since she went clubbing. They filed out of the car and Grantaire and Ryan walked ahead, talking quietly to each other.

_No doubt planning my demise, _Éponine thought.

When they reached the door, Grantaire held it open for Ryan and Éponine, making a show of sweeping his arm open for them. Instantly, Éponine felt the buzzing in her stomach disappear. She'd forgotten how much she loved the atmosphere of clubs: the lights, the pounding music, the smell of assorted drinks and cigarette, people screaming to each other over the music. One could get lost in it all.

Ryan grabbed Éponine's hand and dragged her up to the bar, ordering her a strawberry margarita. Éponine glanced at him, raising her eyebrow. "How did you know I like that?"

"You scream strawberries," Ryan said, leaning in so she could hear him.

Éponine threw her head back in laughter, glad that the stress of the week was rolling off her shoulders. The drink was placed in her hand and the first sip was heaven. After Grantaire joined them, and the two boys ordered their drinks as well, Grantaire tore Éponine away from taking in the whole club, which was not that big; the high ceilings gave it the illusion of being big.

"Come on," he shouted. "There is someone I want you to meet!"

Éponine swallowed the sip of her drink in her mouth, struggling against Grantaire's hand on her wrist. "Oh, no! No! No! I don't want a boyfriend!"

Grantaire laughed, shaking his head. "We're not setting you up! We're getting you friends outside of work and school."

Éponine highly doubted it, but she would amuse them by playing along. "Okay, fine. Where is this friend of yours?"

Grantaire stood on his toes, shoving his beer into Ryan's hands. He looked over the bobbing heads of the couples on the dance floor and then pointed to a small alcove on the opposite side of the room. "There he is. God, creepy bastard, hiding in the shadows like that. How were we supposed to find him there?"

Ryan smirked and handed Grantaire his beer back, guiding Éponine to the alcove. When they reached it, Éponine could barely make out who was inside. Her margarita was nearly empty and what she really wanted was stiff drink. Grantaire slid into the booth and whispered something to the man, bringing him out onto the better illuminated floor.

Éponine bit the inside of her cheek, her face heating. "Holy shit," she whispered. Behind her, Ryan laughed behind his hand.

"Hey. I'm Max." Max, a tall brunette, held out his hand for Éponine to shake. She blinked several times. His chin was littered with slight stubble, his jaw jutting out into a fantastic line. Underneath large eyebrows were eyes of green and a dusting of freckles over his nose.

Éponine shook his head. "Veronica Walter."

Max smiled, his teeth shining even in the dark. Éponine squinted, confused as to how someone could be _that _handsome. He smirked, as if reading her mind. Éponine shook herself free of any dirty thoughts floating across her brain. It wasn't like this was the first attractive guy she had ever met. So why was she acting like he was?

"Can I buy you a drink?" Max asked, gesturing to the bar.

"Sure," she said.

Maybe Ryan was right.

Maybe she did need a friend out of school and work.

She hadn't thought about _Les Amis _once since she'd reached the bar. And that felt strangely good.

.::.

_May 23__rd__; 47__th__ Street._

.::.

After two more margaritas (Éponine had gone for the lighter stuff in order to keep focused on her conversation with Max.), Éponine had learned that Max was studying to become a history teacher, he absolutely hated musical theatre, his mother was a Buddhist and his father a priest, and his dream as a child was to become a business tycoon. She, in turn, had told him that her parents were deceased, she and her brother had only just moved to West Bath, she was studying art, and musical theatre had always been a guilty pleasure of hers. He had a delightful sense of humor and found it most entertaining to tease Éponine whenever there was a lull in the conversation.

Max took another sip of his beer and laughed, setting it down on the counter, staring at the dark bottle for a moment before looking at Éponine intently. "Wanna get out of here?" he asked, looking toward the door quickly.

Éponine's throat clamped. In normal circumstances, if she were home in Florida, she would say "Hell yeah!" and jump in his car without a second glance back. But this wasn't Florida and Éponine had Gavroche to think of now. "I – I don't know –"

Max frowned for a second before his face cleared. His put his hand on Éponine's wrist for a moment before pulling it away. "No. Not – not like that. I just can barely hear you over this music and I thought we could go somewhere quieter to – you know – talk more."

Narrowing her eyes for a moment, Éponine weighed her options and then found herself nodding. "Have any place in mind?"

"There's a Waffle House two miles down the road." He threw her a sideways grin, already off the bar-stool. Éponine hopped down, a smile pulling her lips up.

"Works for me."

.::.

_May 24__th__; Waffle House._

.::.

With the sound of faint country music in the background and the smell of coffee and waffles in the air, Éponine found herself to be more relaxed than she'd been her whole time in West Bath. Max had ordered them both breakfast, himself a straight black coffee, and Éponine a glass of apple juice. Their conversation had drifted from the quintessential first-meeting topics to more personal matters. Of course, nearly everything Éponine said was pulled out of her ass, but Max didn't have to know that – in fact, he would never know that. Éponine had grown to enjoy her facade as Veronica. No one offered sympathy gifts or looks of pity when they thought she wasn't looking.

She was treated the same as everyone else – well, nearly. (She didn't count her interactions with _Les Amis_.)

"So, you moved here from –" Max raised an eyebrow, taking a bite of his eggs.

"Kansas."

"And you're about to graduate art school."

"Yes, sir." Éponine smiled, the idea of having gone from the gutters to a college graduate bringing a flutter to her stomach.

"Well, that's swell." Max smiled in return. "I've got an interview next month at the elementary school in West Bath to be a new sixth grade teacher."

Éponine looked up from her plate. "That's great, Max! I'm still not sure what field I want to go into." She shrugged. "I've been looking a little, but no dice."

Wrinkles appeared in Max's brow as he frowned in consternation. "That art position at the elementary school is open for next year, you know? The old art teacher is moving into a fifth grade spot."

Cosette's old job most likely.

Éponine tried not to look too intrigued or excited. That could be just what she was looking for. "Really?"

Max nodded, pushing his fork around his nearly empty plate. "Yeah, but you'd have to have a teaching license."

_Good thing I'll have one come June, _Éponine thought. She decided not to mention her thoughts to Max.

Another hour or so of trailing through every conversation topic in existence passed before the pair decided to call it a night. Max left the money for their bill on the table, placing one hand in the small of Éponine's back, raising the other to wave goodbye to the cook watching them from behind the kitchen door.

After giving Max her address, the two got into his car and headed off for Éponine's West Bath home in companionable silence. The only sounds came from the wheels crushing on the small pebbles outside, the woman on Max's phone telling them when and where to turn, and Éponine's deep breathing as she struggled to stay away.

She liked Max. He was obviously handsome and kind; they liked most of the same things and she'd gathered enough to figure that they probably had the same political views. All in all, for their first time meeting, she liked him. She didn't know if she wanted that to lead to anything more. Maybe a couple of dates would be nice; but maybe he wasn't even interested in her.

Was she? Was she interested in Max?

Was she really ready to commit to even the idea of dating a complete stranger?

Éponine had only ever had one boyfriend that had ended in tears and bruises. After Montparnasse, Éponine had sworn off everything but one-night-stands. The idea of heading into another relationship scared her. And the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to jump out of the car and walk home.

Unfortunately, that wasn't even an option because when Éponine's head cleared and she focused on the road before her, she realized Max was pulling up the long, gravely hill of her driveway.

"Oh," she said, sitting up straighter in her seat. "I didn't realize we were so close."

Max chuckled and cut the engine, stepping out of the car to go around and open Éponine's door for her. They walked to her door hand in hand, stopping as Éponine pulled open the screen door.

"I had a nice time," Éponine said, finding herself blushing. Hopefully the dark concealed it.

Max shoved his hands into his pockets, smiling at his toes. "Yeah, me too."

"We should do it again sometime."

"Yeah, we should." He looked up and snapped his fingers. "Here." He handed her his phone. "Give me your number and I'll call you next week sometime."

"O – okay. Here."

They exchanged phones and plugged in their numbers. Éponine nearly put her real name, but at the last second, changed it to Veronica. After getting her phone back, she shoved it into her bag and smiled at Max for a moment before stepping up into the doorway. "Goodnight, Max."

He shuffled his feet, a content smile on his face. "Night, Veronica."

Éponine stepped into the cabin and closed the door slowly, locking it. The clock on the stove read three-thirty four. She had to go pick up Gavroche in five hours so he could get to his doctor's appointment on time. Groaning, Éponine slunk to her bed and fell on the mattress.

Yes, Ryan had been right after all.

She did need something to think about besides _Les Amis._

* * *

**Don't hate me; don't hate me; don't hate me! I have my reasons! It will make sense in the end!**


	11. A Resignation

**A/N: Thank you so much for 100 reviews! I'm so thankful that you guys are actually telling me what you're slightly concerned about and what you want to see happen. :D**

**Just a reminder (because it's been mentioned a few times in the reviews): This is most definitely a slowburn!fic. So, it's gonna take awhile for everyone to sort of mesh together like we're all used to seeing. But I do promise that in the next couple of chapters we will be seeing more of them (being Enjolras and **_**Les Amis**_**.)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Ten: _A Resignation._

.::.

_May 26__th__; Rosemar College._

.::.

"And we're going out for dinner again tonight," Éponine finished, setting her paintbrush down to peer around her easel at Grantaire. He only smirked and continued to paint. "Aren't you going to congratulate me? Or at least do a victory cheer?" Éponine put her hand on her hip, cocking her head to the side. "Your plan worked! Max and I are going out."

Grantaire shook his head, his smile full of mischief. "Plan? I don't know what you're talking about."

"Uh-huh, sure." Éponine looked back at her painting, putting the end of her paintbrush in her mouth.

"Veronica?"

"Yeah?"

"I am happy for you."

Éponine smiled brightly, laughing. "Thanks, R. I'm pretty happy for me, too."

.::.

_May 26__th__; The Cabin._

.::.

"So, you're going on a date?" Gavroche stood in the doorway of the bathroom, watching as Éponine curled her hair and put the finishing touches onto her makeup; he picked at his fingernail, trying to appear casual when he was anything but.

"Yeah. That's the third time you've asked, 'Roche. My answer wont change." Éponine picked up a golden earring and leaned closer to the mirror, snapping it into place. She glanced at his reflection in the mirror. "Do you have a problem with this? Cause if you do, I won't go."

"No! No. I want you to go. I'm just trying to get a feel, I guess."

She smiled softly, whispering, "Okay. Thanks."

Finishing her hair and makeup, Éponine left the bathroom, touching Gavroche's cheek affectionately for a second before she walked into the living room, grabbing her clutch off the couch. "And you'll be fine with Ryan?"

"Duh! Éponine, he's only the coolest." Gavroche flung himself onto the couch, looking over the back as she paced around the kitchen.

"Yeah, whatever. Where is he anyway? You know the rules: no TV after nine-thirty, you have to finish your homework before you watch, too; and bedtime at –"

"Ten. Yes! I know."

Éponine stopped pacing and smiled. "Good." She bit her bottom lip and spread out her arms from her sides, raising an eyebrow. "How do I look?"

Gavroche shrugged. He stared at her knee-length navy blue summer dress. With the weather warming up considerably, Éponine wasn't too worried about getting cold. "Nice, I suppose."

"Trust a ten year old to know," Éponine muttered, moving to the window. She pulled back the curtain slightly, straining her eyes to search for headlights in the dark. Ryan should have been there ten minutes ago and Max was going to show up any minute.

Sighing in frustration, Éponine pulled out her phone to call Ryan, but a pair of headlights shined into the driveway and he hopped out of the car, sprinting to the door. Without bothering to knock, Ryan rushed inside, wheezing.

"Sorry! Sorry! Traffic." He winced, smiling tentatively at Éponine.

Amused, Éponine only scoffed. "Traffic? In West Bath? Nice one." She looked back out the window and Max pulled into the driveway, parking behind Ryan. He got out and walked slowly to the door, carrying a small bouquet of daises. "Okay. Well, Walt, be good, okay? I'll be back by midnight." She winked and left the house before Max could knock.

He startled when she popped out of the door so fast, but quickly composed himself. "Ver – Veronica, hi. Here." He handed her the flowers.

"Thank you, Max." Éponine smiled, holding them close to her chest.

"You look nice," he said, staring at her shoulder. Fine lines appeared on his forehead and his left hand was fiddling with something in his pocket.

"Are you okay?" Éponine asked, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"What?" He looked away from her shoulder, a nervous smile on his face. "Yeah – yeah. I'm a little nervous, that's all."

Éponine frowned slightly, turning her head to the side. "There's no reason to be."

He laughed for a couple of seconds, finally putting a hand on her lower back. "I know – I just am. Do you wanna go?"

Éponine stared at Max for another second or so before nodding. "Sure. Let's go."

.::.

_May 28__th__; The Caf__é__._

.::.

Wednesdays were some of Éponine's busiest days. She had taking Gavroche to school, and classes, and work; and Wednesdays were also her deadlines for most projects. In short, Wednesdays were days in which Éponine did not want to be in any sort of foul mood.

After her date with Max on Monday, Éponine had been feeling off. Something about him had been different. He was so anxious, so nervous, their whole dinner it was almost hard to even hold a conversation together.

An hour before her shift started Éponine and Ryan pulled into the parking lot at the same time and walked into the back room together, catching up on how their week had been going. Ryan threw his messenger back on the recliner June had recently put into the break-room, running his hands over his face. Éponine turned around from setting her things on the table.

"You okay?"

"Huh?" Ryan pulled his hands away from his face.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah – yeah. Just tired 's all."

"How was Walter the other night?"

Ryan laughed quietly, shrugging. "He was fine. I helped with his math homework and then he went to bed. So, I watched Bad Girls Club."

Éponine rolled her eyes, grabbing her apron from off the peg from which it hung. "You probably had a better time than I did."

"Really? What happened?"

"He was completely different, Ryan. It was like I wasn't with the same Max from Friday night. He was so jumpy and could barely pay attention. Something was definitely off." Éponine frowned slightly and looked at Ryan, shrugging.

Something resembling recognition and understanding flashed in his eyes for several seconds. He raised both his eyebrows and tied on his apron. "That's strange."

"Yeah. I thought so, too."

"Do you have any plans to go out again?"

Éponine shook her head, moving into the café. Though her shift wasn't going to start for another hour, she was itching to get started. "No. Not as of yet."

"Oh..."

"Anyway, if he's going to be all jumpy every time we meet, I don't know if it's actually worth it."

"Oh, Ronny, don't say that!" Ryan hit her shoulder lightly, resting his back against the case of pastries. "Give the poor guy a chance."

Éponine chuckled, going to the register when the first customer appeared. "Whatever."

The two worked together in silence for the next several hours, only talking when they needed to. Half past seven, the front door opened and _Les Amis _arrived, sans Enjolras, Éponine noticed. Ryan nudged her when she noticed to and she shot him a look that made him back up. She set back to working, still thinking about her date with Max and wondering if the job at the elementary school was open or not. She would have to look into it – and soon.

"Hey, Veronica!" A voice from the back booth made Éponine turn around from a supply order sheet. "Come over here for a second!"

Ryan shrugged when she looked at him for a moment. "I don't know what they want. Just go."

Éponine walked to the booth and stood beside Bahorel, like she always did. "Yeah?" Though Éponine had long since moved on from their abrupt send-off of Ryan and herself nearly two weeks before, she hadn't talked to them since.

"Just wanted to apologize – we never got the chance to," Aiden Courfeyrac said, smiling.

Éponine faltered, but she composed herself after a moment of heavy silence. "Oh. Well, thanks."

"Sit down." Bahorel patted the spot next to him and Éponine slid onto the bench. "How you've you been?"

"Pretty – pretty good." Éponine nodded, glancing around the booth at all the faces staring back at her. "And you guys?"

There were general comments of how everyone was fine and little comments about school, then they all fell back into silence again. Éponine swallowed and glanced at the counter; Ryan was reading a book propped up on the register.

Éponine looked back at the group. "Can I ask you a question?"

Combeferre looked up from the textbook in front of him; he shared a glance with Courfeyrac. "Uh – sure."

"Why do you let Jack control you?" The words came tumbling out in a pile, falling onto the table in an awkward clump. Éponine bit her lip. Combeferre glanced at Courfeyrac; several of the men visibly blanched and looked away, a color rising to their cheeks. Éponine shook her head. "No, no. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that."

No one moved.

Éponine's palms began to sweat; she wiped them on her pants and moved to leave, mortified by what she had done, when a tiny voice spoke up.

"He's got something against all of us."

"Shit, Jehan!" Courfeyrac stood up quickly, staring behind him at the long haired student sitting one table away with Joly, who looked like he wanted to bury his head in the sand.

Jehan shrugged and stood up as well, putting his hands into his pockets. "Well, it's true!"

"You – you weren't – " He groaned and sank back into his seat, pressing his hand to his forehead.

Éponine stood up slowly. "I'm sorry," she said again, now looking at Jehan. "That was rude of me. It's just – well, he was so awful –"

Bahorel smirked beside her, taking a swig of his beer. "We heard."

She paused and stared at him before looking back at Jehan. "Grantaire said you weren't like that, though, and so I just got to wondering.."

"You have reason to." Jehan smiled softly. "What I meant was, he knows something about every one of us that he uses against us sometimes. That simple."

"Doesn't sound simple to me," Éponine whispered.

Combeferre looked up from his book and frowned. "Look, Veronica, you're nice and everything, but you've got no right to come prying into our business."

She shook her head, swallowing. "I'm – I'm not –"

"That's just it: you're not trying not to pry. How we live isn't your concern, and how much of an ass Enjolras is shouldn't bother you. He won't bother you; we won't bother you; we all go out separate ways, okay?"

"Hey, 'Ferre, look –" Courfeyrac put a calming hand on Combeferre's shoulder, trying to defuse the situation. Combeferre had stood up and had angry eyes trained on Éponine; she instinctively took a step backwards.

"No, Courf! You look! She can't waltz in here and judge us all and expect to change something." Combeferre turned to face Courfeyrac, his finger pointing at Éponine. "There is nothing to change! If anything should change, it's her."

Éponine frowned deeply, her finger on her chest. "Me? I should change?"

Combeferre rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Yes, _you. _I'm sorry he was so rude to you, okay? But maybe he had reason to if this was how you acted."

Éponine took a step forward, her head dipped in anger, her voice low and solid. "Listen here, buddy, and you listen good: you all may think you run this town because you've got old money and your parents paid your way through college, but some of us have had to work our asses off just to be able to put a roof over our heads. And I will not let some pompous group of boys judge me from a booth in the corner of a ratty café. I have seen things you've never even dreamed of. So I suggest that you figure out if you want to be perceived as racists and prejudiced jackasses before you follow that saint Enjolras of yours into battle."

Éponine turned on her heel, angry tears streaming down her cheeks. She ripped off her apron and stormed into June's office. The woman looked up from her account books, confused. "Veronica, what's – what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, June. You've been so wonderful to me, but I can't – I just can't work here anymore." She limply threw her apron on the desk and stormed out of the café hopefully for the rest of her life.


	12. Dramatic Changes

**A/N: After this chapter and Friday's, things are going to start picking up, I promise!**

**Trigger Warning: mentions of drug usage. **

**Disclaimer: I own thing.**

* * *

Chapter Eleven: _Dramatic Changes_

.::.

_May 27__th__; The Cabin._

.::.

"Knock knock, enter enter." Éponine's bedroom door opened quietly and Ryan and Grantaire filed in, a bowl of what seemed to be soup in Ryan's hands.

Éponine rolled over, her arm thrown over her eyes. "Go away, Ryan!"

"Yeah, that's not happening." Ryan set the soup on Éponine's bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed. "You're coming to work today."

"I quit – no, I'm not coming." Éponine rolled onto her stomach and shoved her head beneath her pillow.

"June didn't accept your resignation – if you could call it that." Ryan shook his head and chuckled softly. "So you're coming."

"Ryan, get out!" Éponine flew out from beneath the covers, launching her pillow onto Ryan's shoulder.

He held up his hands in surrender. "I'm just trying to help –"

"Well, you're not, so get out." She pointed toward the door and leaned forward, eyes set hard.

His face fell slightly and some form of hurt pooled into his eyes. "Ronny –"

"Go!"

He slid off the bed and grabbed his jacket off the bed-post. "Fine." Ryan left the room and slammed the door with as much force as he could. Both Éponine and Grantaire winced at the impact. With a heavy sigh, she fell back into the pillows.

"I shouldn't have –"

Grantaire held up a hand and shook his head. "We all need self-pity days."

"This isn't –"

He raised an eyebrow. "It is. And after a day like yesterday, I don't blame you."

Éponine rolled over and put her hands beneath her chin. "If you have nothing helpful to say, I suggest you leave."

"Max said you might get a job at the elementary school as an art teacher." Grantaire changed the subject deftly, glancing at the pad of paper on the bedside table that had a note for Éponine to call the school about the position.

Éponine sat up, brushing the hair out of her face. "When did you talk to Max?"

"This morning. I called him about last night."

"Oh." Éponine drew her knees up to her chest, looking toward the window.

"I think that sounds great – the job, I mean."

"I'm calling the school tomorrow."

"Good." Grantaire stood up. "In that case, we need to get you interview ready. Get out of bed; come on. You've got ten minutes before the car leaves." He winked and left the room.

.::.

_May 27__th__; Nelly's Hair Salon._

.::.

Thirty minutes later, a still-unwashed Éponine sat in a stylist's chair, her body turned away from the mirror. Grantaire sat in the seat beside her, flipping through a hair-cut catalog, and Ryan sat, brooding, on his phone, on a couch near the door.

Apparently, to Grantaire, becoming interview ready meant getting your hair cut. Éponine wasn't completely opposed to the idea. She usually got her hair cut around the summer, anyway.

"What about this?" Grantaire held up a photo of a middle-aged woman with a layered bob.

"No. That's mom hair. Pick something else."

The stylist drummed her fingers on the back of Éponine's chair, popping her gum. Grantaire and Éponine shared an amused look. Éponine ran her hands throughout her black hair once more, noting how it nearly touched her waist.

"Shoulder length, please," she finally said.

The woman popped her gum again. "Layers?"

"Just slightly above the shoulders," Éponine repeated.

"Okay."

Éponine closed her eyes and held her breath.

The cutting began.

.::.

_May 31__st__; West Bath Elementary School._

.::.

Squirming slightly, Éponine adjusted her grey pencil skirt. She itched the back of her head, the feeling of less hair still foreign to her. The woman in front of her, Mary LeVan, was the principal of West Bath Elementary School and was by far the most intimidating woman Éponine had ever come across. Every sentence she said Éponine couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or honest or both.

"So, Miss Walter, I've reviewed your application, called Rosemar, and talked to your previous employer since we last talked on Friday. As you know, Mrs. Pontmercy is now living in Augusta and until next school year, her position is being filled by a long-term sub." She turned her head to the side as she studied Éponine's resume. "I think you would make a wonderful addition to our staff here, and a good art teacher. Your portfolio is quite extensive."

"Thank you." Éponine smiled at her hands and then looked back up.

"At the risk of hiring someone straight out of school – which, I must assure you, I _do not _do often – I'm still prepared to offer you next year's position."

Éponine eyes widened and she struggled to keep her smile and voice under control. "Really?"

Mary snapped her portfolio shut and slid it across the desk. "Yes."

"Thank – thank you."

"What do you say, then?" Mary raised her eyebrow, folding her arms across the desk.

"I accept, of course."

"Wonderful! Come in on Wednesday and I will have all the paperwork drawn up for you. Unfortunately, since you can't start until next year, I realize that you are without a job."

Éponine hadn't thought about that.

Maybe quitting The Musain wasn't her most sound idea.

"Yes, ma'am."

"I already took the liberty of calling June – she's an old friend – and she said that the position was still open for the summer." Mary smiled, the first hint of kindness Éponine had seen. "It's just a matter of going to get your apron."

Éponine stifled a cough and blinked several times. "Thank you. That helps a lot."

"I'm sure you will work wonderfully." Mrs. LaVan stood up and held out her hand; Éponine followed suit and shook it. "Have a wonderful day, Miss Walter. Oh! And before I forget, the new sixth grade teacher is here as well. That's the only time I've hired two people fresh out of college in one day, but he advocated for you."

Max.

Éponine smiled brightly, moving toward the door. "Thank you, Mrs. LaVan."

"You're welcome. See you Wednesday!"

Éponine opened the office door and stepped out into the hallway, looking toward the front door where she saw Max on the couch beside the front desk. He looked up when Éponine came closer and smiled, putting his phone away.

"Hey," she said, holding her jacket.

Max shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced at the receptionist before guiding Éponine toward the front door and out to his car. "Hey," he said when they finally reached it. "Did you get it?"

She nodded, smiling. "Yeah. Thanks for whatever you said."

He shrugged. "I figured it was the least I could do to make up for our shitty date."

Éponine laughed, looking at her toes. "You didn't have to."

"Well, I did." He lifted his hand and ran his fingers through the bottom of her hair. "I like your hair cut."

Éponine brushed her hair behind her ear. "Thank you."

"Can we talk about the date?" he asked, narrowing his eyes in nerves.

"I'd like that."

"Waffle House?" he asked, a bright smile suddenly on his face.

Éponine laughed and squeezed his hand. "Waffle House."

.::.

_May 31__st__; Waffle House._

.::.

Éponine took a bite of her sandwich and looked up at Max, who only had a cup of coffee. He drummed his fingers on the space of table beside him. Éponine gently covered her hand with his.

He let go of a laugh and smiled. "So, the date."

"The date."

"Can I be painfully honest?"

Éponine set her sandwich down. She felt her stomach clench and her mouth go slightly dry. "Yeah, sure."

"My – my dad and I don't have the best relationship." He glanced into his cup.

Éponine quirked a smile. "My father and I didn't, as well."

Max looked up and licked his lips; Éponine tried not to pay attention to the motion. "When I was a teenager, I got into drugs and drinking and stuff. You know how teenagers are? Anyway, I got – I got into cocaine."

Éponine felt her eyes widen for a fraction of a second before she willed herself to be calm. "Yeah?"

"I was addicted for years and it was because of him; he was the one who supplied it for me because he had a dealer and –" Max rubbed his hands on his forehead, sighing. "And then my mom got pregnant with my sister. He stopped using when she did and I had to stop because he wouldn't get anymore. Eventually, my mom starting using again and pretty much killed herself and the baby. When she died in the hospital, my dad went bat-shit crazy. He starting using again, so I did, too."

Éponine held his hand in both of hers; she could feel it trembling. "Oh, Max," she whispered.

"It got so bad. I was so sick. The school noticed and sent me to rehab right before graduation. I've been clean for six years, Veronica. That is until we went on the date."

"What do you mean? Don't tell me that this –"

Max looked up and frowned. "No, this isn't your fault. My dad called that afternoon and stopped by for the first time in years. As much as I hate him, he's my dad, you know? And so when he pulled some cocaine out, I –"

"You used."

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. "I'm so sorry. So, so sorry."

"You don't need to apologize to me, Max." Éponine put her fingers beneath his chin and lifted his head so she could make eye-contact with him. "I won't judge you; I will help you. And, I'm glad you told me."

Max smiled softly. "Thank you."

"Anything." In truth, Éponine would do anything to help him get clean again. After her own childhood full of selling drugs and watching people use them, she'd gotten into heroin for a time before she lived with her aunt for a year or so; her aunt had gotten her clean as a whistle. Never again would Éponine touch a needle. It was her turn to repay her aunt's kindness and help Max.

It was only right for her to. And besides, she cared for him.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked suddenly, the words bringing Éponine crashing out of her thoughts.

She felt herself nod.

But was that really what she wanted?

Did she really want to kiss Max?

Did she feel romantically inclined toward him? Or more platonically inclined?

It was too late for her to think anymore.

Max took her cheeks into his hands and leaned across the table, pressing his lips against hers.

Éponine waited.

She read about this before: the fireworks, the unimaginable explosion of feeling. She'd heard about kisses that meant something other than power struggles and apologies that tasted like liquor.

Nothing happened.

Sure, Max kissing her felt nice. She hadn't kissed anyone in a long while.

But there were no fireworks, or explosions of feeling. He tasted like coffee and a hint of obligation.

Éponine pulled away, her heart hammering with anxiety and worry. Max planted a peck on the tip of her nose; she closed her eyes in fear that a tear would release.

God, why was she crying?!

He sat back down and took her hand.

Éponine could only give him a half-smile.

That _was not _how she'd imagined it to be.

.::.  
_June 1__st__; The Cabin._

.::.

After calling June and reclaiming her job, apologizing profusely over the phone, nearly breaking down in tears, June had promised she no longer had to work the evening shift and she only had to work three days a week – of her choosing. Éponine had no idea why June was being so kind when it was Éponine who had made multiple scenes in her café, but she wasn't about to turn June down with an offer like that. She'd taken Gavroche to school, but had held off about telling him about her job, so now the only thing she had left to do was call Ryan.

Picking up her phone, Éponine saw two messages. One from Bailey about the call she'd forgotten to make. Oh well, he would be fine. And the other from Adrienne. For awhile, Éponine had presumed that Adrienne had moved on. There were no more calls or billions of text messages left on her phone. At first it had hurt slightly, but she'd been gone for over a month. It was time for Adrienne to move on; and Éponine, too.

Sighing, Éponine opened it, like she always did.

**Adrienne: **_I still love you and I still miss you._

Éponine twitched her nose and deleted the message before she could think too much about it. She called Ryan and waited for him to pick up.

"_Yeah?"_

"You still pissed with me?"

She heard him sigh. _"No."_

"Good, then come over for pizza tonight. And bring that boyfriend of yours. I have news."


	13. Graduation and Golfing

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Twelve: _Graduation and Golfing_

.::.

_June 9__th__; Rosemar College Graduation Ceremony._

.::.

"Veronica Walter."

Éponine spun around, giving Grantaire's hand another squeeze. They both exchanged wide smiles before he shoved her shoulder. "Go!"

Éponine's spin dropped for a moment as she turned and focused on going up the three steps without tripping over her robe. Walking quickly across the stage, Éponine smiled and shook the dean's hand, accepting the diploma from his other. They faced the crowd for a moment and Éponine immediately found Gavroche, Ryan, and Max. Gav waved from his seat; Ryan stood up and whooped, beating his fist into the air.

Éponine was then ushered off the stage into the grass. She glanced at all the nicely dressed family members in the white folding chairs Rosemar had set up for the college graduation ceremony held in the park on campus. It looked nice, rustic even; very West Bath. In the very back of the crowd, leaning against a tree, Éponine saw Enjolras, hands shoved deep into his pockets. She frowned, the euphoria of being a college graduate fading slightly; why would he be there?

But when Grantaire came bounding down off the stage, swooping her into a hug, she remembered: they were best friends, apparently – Grantaire and Enjolras. Grantaire let her go after a moment, rambling about how drunk he was going to get. Éponine glanced toward the tree again, half-listening.

Enjolras was gone.

"Veronica! Ver – Veronica!" Éponine turned around at the sound of her name to see Ryan, Max, and Gavroche weaving their way through the horde of people. Gavroche waved his hands widely, his smile cracking his face.

"Congratulations, college graduate!" Max lifted Éponine into the air when he reached her, pressing a kiss behind her ear. She laughed and squirmed in his arms. Setting her down, Max grinned. "I'm very proud of you."

Éponine smiled wider. "Thanks – me, too." She chuckled, tucking a piece of loose hair behind her ear. Gav rushed forward and threw his arms around her waist. "Walt, hey, kiddo!"

"Great job, sis," he whispered, looking up.

"Thanks, buddy." Éponine winked and untangled herself, receiving a hug from Ryan.

He pulled away and clasped a hand on Éponine's cheek and Grantaire's cheek. Sniffing, he shook his head. "Look at my babies. All grown up!"

"Thank you, Ryan." Éponine rolled her eyes; Grantaire laughed and kissed his cheek.

"I think this momentous occasion deserves something special." Max wrapped an arm around Éponine's shoulder; she tried not to tense up, looking up at him, her rolled-up diploma clutched against her chest.

"Pizza!" Gavroche jumped into the air, eyes eager and wide.

Max laughed, shook his head, and ruffled Gavroche's hair. "No, but good try. We need steak."

.::.

_June 9__th__; Adam's Steak House._

.::.

Ryan cleared his throat, lifting his glass of beer into the air. "I just wanted to propose a toast." Éponine groaned and held her forehead in her hands; Max elbowed her, smirking. "To my two greatest friends, 'Taire and Ronny: I hope you get plastered tonight because you deserve it." He clinked his glass with Grantaire's and took a large swallow of the beer.

Éponine took a sip of her drink along with the rest, but pointed a finger at Gavroche when she set it back down. "We're not getting plastered."

He looked up from the crossword on the child's menu and shrugged. "Okay."

Max leaned in closer to her ear; Éponine shivered, and not because she was cold, and not because of anticipation. She squirmed in her seat, giving Ryan a tiny smile as he stared at her. "You can let a little loose tonight, Veronica," Max whispered, putting his arm around her shoulder, playing with her shirt sleeve with his hand.

Éponine's left hand fisted into her pant leg; her right hand played with her napkin on the table beneath her cup. The edges were curled up because of the sweat pouring off of the glass and Éponine ripped off a corner, balling it between her fingers. "Yeah, no, thanks."

Max chuckled, his hand moving up to the back of her neck. She could smell the alcohol on his breath as he moved closer to her ear. Éponine flinched, struggling to somehow maneuver out of his grasp without appearing rude. "It's graduation, Ronny! Live a little."

"Hey, Grantaire."

Éponine, for the first and _only _time thus far in her life, was thankful to hear Jack Enjolras' voice. Max's hand fell to her shoulder again and he leaned back, looking over Gavroche's shoulder at the crossword. "Four down is apartment."

Gavroche looked up and smiled brightly. "Thanks, Max." Max nodded and reverted his attention back to Enjolras, who stood at the foot of the table awkwardly, his back partially facing Éponine.

Grantaire turned away from his conversation with Ryan and grinned, standing up to shake Enjolras' hand. He stepped out of the booth and pulled him into a tight hug before laughing loudly. "Hey, 'Ras!"

Enjolras cleared his throat, obviously disheveled from the display of affection. "I wanted to congratulate you on graduating today."

Grantaire shrugged. "Ah, it's nothing. Wish you could have been there, though."

Éponine saw Enjolras' back straighten. "I had other things to attend to."

Grantaire, still smiling, waved Enjolras off. "Yeah, yeah, I understand. Hey, do you want to sit down for a minute?" Éponine swallowed nervously, finding herself inching closer to Max. Enjolras turned around and narrowed his eyes slightly when he recognized Éponine. Grantaire followed his eye line. "Or – or not." His smile fell and Éponine looked to her lap.

"Of course. I would be happy to –"

Grantaire smiled once more and pulled up a chair from the table across from their booth. He put it at the end of the table and sat back on the bench. "Great, great!"

"I can't stay very long, though."

"No. No, of course not."

Éponine looked up from her lap, her head brimming with too many thoughts . She glanced at Max, who stared at Enjolras with obvious disinterest. His hand rested on her hip. She focused on Gavroche who watched the interchanges between Grantaire and Enjolras intently. Éponine, then, looked at Ryan, who held his mouth pressed against the palm of his hand; he stared at the wood of the bench-backs beside her head.

The conversation between Enjolras and Grantaire continued for another ten minutes before Enjolras stood, claiming he had elsewhere to be. He left after biding everyone a terse goodbye. The table remained silent for a few more moments before Ryan suddenly pushed his way out of the booth.

"I – I need to – I need a minute." He wiped a hand on his mouth and fought his way through the dinner rush to get to the door.

Max laughed nervously. "Well, um.."

"I'll take care of it," Éponine whispered, patting Max's leg so she could move out of the booth. The look Grantaire gave her as she left was one she couldn't quite place; a mixture between gratitude and anger.

Outside, Ryan stood on the far left side of the building, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he lit it. Éponine came up beside him and leaned against the wall. When he'd taken the first drag and let it go, she shook the hair away from her face.

"Grantaire loves Jack, doesn't he?"

His question caught her off guard. Éponine had merely thought that Ryan was pissed for another reason; something Enjolras had done. She would have never guessed he suspected Grantaire was _in love _with Enjolras. But then again...

The way Grantaire had been so excited when Jack came up to the table.

And the way he focused on him as if he was the only one there –

It couldn't be that.

Éponine tried to laugh her confusion and nerves away. "I – I think that's pretty dramatic, Ry."

Ryan frowned at Éponine, cigarette between his fingers; the smell alone made her want to gag. "You were thinking the same thing. I could tell."

"I was not!" In truth, she did think it was a little odd, and maybe she thought Grantaire had a crush, but in love – no, she certainly didn't think he was in love with Enjolras. "Ryan, I think we should just go back inside and forget about it."

He scoffed and tossed the cigarette butt to the ground, crushing it with his heel. "I'm gravitated toward people who only care about the _Amis_, you know that right?"

"What?"

"I mean, you – you barely stop complaining about them. And Grantaire never stops raving about them." Ryan sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I love you both to death, I do, but there comes a time when you have to move on. Grantaire and I have been friends for years, since we were younger, and I thought he was finally moving on from Enjolras when we got together. I guess not.." He shrugged, looking past Éponine at the door.

"What do you mean 'moved on'?"

Ryan started walking toward the door; Éponine fell into step next to him. "He's had the most obvious crush on Enjolras ever since high-school. I thought that had passed."

Éponine had dozens of responses whizzing through her head, but she chose not to say any of them. Partly because they had reached the door, and partly because they would only result in making Ryan angry. "I'm sorry," she said lamely.

Ryan turned his head to look at her as they headed back to the booth; his smile was surprising and electrifying. "You wanna go mini-golfing tomorrow? Just you and me?"

Éponine stopped in her tracks. "Uh, sure."

"My treat, for the college graduate."

.::.

_June 10__th__; West Bath Golf Course._

.::.

"Ryan, you said mini-golfing, not actual golfing." Éponine sat in the golf-cart, her hands wrapped tightly around a club.

Ryan stood leaned over at the tee, his tongue sticking out of his mouth, staring down the green at the flag that marked his end destination. "Yeah, well, life is surprising sometimes, Ron-Ron."

Éponine pushed herself off of golf-cart, walking up beside him, putting her weight on the club. "And you're kicking my ass, so, I think we should call it a day."

Ryan swung the club back and let loose, sending the golf ball flying nearly into the hole. He whistled lowly. "Hell no. Your go."

Éponine rolled her eyes and placed herself before the tee, barely giving the golf ball a half-attempt at beating Ryan's hit. "So, did you talk to Grantaire about last night?" Éponine asked, as they sat back in the golf-cart to drive to their golf balls.

"No, actually." Ryan drove slowly. "Did you talk to Max about why you're being so stand-offish toward him?"

"Excuse me?"

"Don't play coy with me, Veronica." Ryan sighed and switched off the golf-cart, five feet away from where their golf-balls rested. He faced her, his face soft. "I watched you. You don't like him, do you?"

Éponine looked away. "No. I do like him."

"Didn't seem like it to me."

Éponine was silent, staring at the manicured grass. "He's nice."

"Yeah."

"And gorgeous."

Ryan chuckled, crossing his arms. "Most definitely." He paused. "So, what is it? Is it the drugs?"

Éponine looked at Ryan sharply. "No! And – and how did you know about that?"

Ryan shrugged. "Connections. Anyway, go on. Tell me."

"I just.. don't feel the same as him." Éponine sighed. "Let's make a deal, Ryan. I don't really want to talk about this anymore, and you don't want to talk about Grantaire, so let's agree to not talk about it, go get something to eat, and start the summer off on a good note, okay?"

To her surprise, Ryan smiled. "Sounds like a plan, Stan. Besides, it's probably best if you give up while I'm winning. I wouldn't want to embarrass you too much."

* * *

**A/N (this may be a long one): I guess I didn't make it clear that Éponine's news was merely that she got the job at the elementary school. Sorry about that!This chapter is a bit lame, but because of my plans for the chapters next week, I couldn't really figure out how I wanted this one structured. And I almost didn't update today because the past two days were awful and I had no motivation to write. Like, at all – which is kind of weird for me. (Also, I've been binge watching 'Friday Night Lights' with my best friend Erin and that show is killing me.)**

**I may start asking questions each Friday from y'all, if that's okay?**

**Question One: What do you honestly think of Max? Obviously, he's gonna have to go, and I have a plan for that, but if there was any way you wanted to see him go, what would it be?**

**Question Two (the one I want answered most): What specific events or plot points would you like to see in the story? Even though I have a general plan, I am most definitely open to adding stuff in (if I can) that you guys want.**

**Until Monday!**

**Jess**


	14. Speeding Ticket

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your suggestions. I will definitely see which ones I can incorporate. **

**(This chapter is the first time we have Enjolras' POV. Now, before you get confused, when he mentions ****Éponine he refers to her as Veronica, because he only knows her as Veronica. Just thought I would explain that before I got people telling me to fix it. All for a reason, guys! But, really, if it is too confusing that way, tell me and I will change it.)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: _Speeding Ticket._

.::.

_June 20__th__; Augusta City Hall._

.::.

Éponine's summer had been boring as hell so far. In the past, she and Gavroche had always traveled to North Carolina to spend a few weeks at Adrienne's beach house, but now that she was Veronica, there was no more beach house, no more Friday night parties at Adam's; there was only boredom and the community pool and unfinished art pieces. The second weekend of summer Max offered to take Gavroche and Éponine to New York City for the weekend. At first, Éponine had been completely opposed. It was only the second week of summer and she didn't see any reason to leave already – even if it was just a mini-vacation. But after Gavroche begged and begged and begged, she relented. And though Max and Gav had a marvelous time, Éponine found it rather lackluster.

One positive of the summer was that Éponine didn't have to deal with _Les Amis_. With her job at the café scheduled in the mornings, and besides the one time she ran into Joly at the supermarket, she never had to see them anymore – much to her satisfaction.

Augusta in the summer was beautiful. The old marble buildings shinned brightly when the sun hit them just right, and the trees lining the streets towered over every car, offering much needed shade when the car got too hot. Éponine drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, looking up through her windshield. Finally, Éponine found Augusta City Hall. She sighed and parked in front of the building, wrinkling her nose. A week earlier, she had received a traffic ticket in Augusta for driving a little too much over the speed limit, so she was back to pay it.

Éponine took the stairs two at a time, eager to get in and get out as quickly as possible. Inside the building, Éponine found the front desk easy enough, checking in. The woman behind the desk pointed to a group of chairs near the window.

"Wait until he's ready for you, hun."

Éponine smiled her thanks and went to the chair, sitting down and crossing her legs. She picked up the magazine laying on the table beside her. Five or so minutes passed before the woman behind the desk called her forward.

"Go down the hall. He's the third door on the left."

Éponine hoisted the strap of her bag a little higher on her shoulder. "Thanks." Humming softly to herself, Éponine walked down the hall, looking in the offices on either side of her. Each office was even more boring than the last. "Third office on the left," Éponine whispered, stopping before the man's office who would take care of her ticket. She went in and plopped down in one of the two gray chairs in front of his desk. She glanced around the room. The desk was more than unpersonalized, besides his framed diploma on the wall and a potted plant in the corner. Éponine scoffed; it was worse than the cubicle she had used back in Florida.

Éponine whistled lowly, picking up the name plate in front of her. Her heart clenched and she threw it back on the desk, groaning.

_Jack Enjolras, Attorney at Law._

.::.

_June 20__th__; Augusta City Hall._

.::.

Enjolras' day thus far had been less than exciting – just like his summer. Fresh out of law school, Enjolras couldn't expect to have all the good cases right off the bat, but that didn't mean he should get stuck with the menial cases. Glancing at his watch, Enjolras cursed. Didn't he have an appointment? It could wait; it was only a traffic ticket. Besides, his lunch break technically wasn't over yet.

Enjolras opened his laptop and checked his email, surprised to see the first contact from Marius since he moved. Enjolras opened the email and read it quickly, knowing he was crunched for time. Marius relayed that all was well in the Pontmercy household. He'd gotten the great position he wanted at the law-firm and Cosette was expecting a baby girl. He sounded happy, which should have made Enjolras happy, but it didn't. Not only were things slow at the workplace, things were also slow for _Les Amis. _Everyone used to meet at the café every day, now he was lucky if people showed up once a week. Usually there was a lull in the beginning of summer; the guys went on vacation or started to search for their next summer fling, but after the first week, things fell right back into the place.

Not this time.

Even when they did meet, the conversation was dull and everyone looked like they'd rather be somewhere else. Enjolras had approached Combeferre about it one evening, but he had shrugged him off, claiming he had to rush to a date he had planned earlier that day.

"Hey, Enjolras!" Christopher poked his head into the lunch room. "You've got a client sitting in your office. She's been there for fifteen minutes!"

"Shit, yeah, I know." Enjolras stood up, throwing his trash into the trash bin and swiping his laptop into his arm as he flew down the hall. If he _ever _wanted to get a promotion, he would have to start acting a little more involved (even if all he did was handle the cases no one wanted).

Clearing his throat, Enjolras slowed his pace when he reached the door to his office, straightening his tie with his free hand. The woman sat in the chair, jiggling her leg, looking around the room. "Sorry, ma'am," Enjolras apologized, going around the desk, plugging his laptop back in and opening the lid. He sat down and turned to face his client. He sighed when he recognized her. "Oh, it's you."

The woman – Veronica? – chuckled, pulling a piece of paper out of her bag; Enjolras couldn't help but notice that her chuckle bode no hint of actual humor. "Yeah, it's me; all the more reason to get through with this." She placed the paper on his desk, refusing to make eye-contact.

He took the paper, narrowing his eyes. She'd gotten to her hair cut since he last saw her. Come to think of it, she didn't work at the café anymore, did she? At least, not during the evenings. Probably his fault, but he wasn't bothered about that. Enjolras turned to his computer and opened up her file. Veronica Walter; he was right. Her record was perfectly clean. He glanced back at her; she picked at something on her finger.

"So, sixty in a twenty?"

Veronica rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I was in a rush."

"You flew through a school-zone." He raised an eyebrow, swiveling his chair to face her.

Veronica brushed some hair behind her ear and faced him, shrugging. "No kids were out."

"There could have been."

"There weren't." She huffed. "Please, can I just pay this and go? I've been here longer than I would have cared to be."

Enjolras nodded, pulling open a drawer beside him. He cleared his throat again and brought out a slip of paper. "Yes, of course. That was my fault –"

"Yes, it was."Enjolras looked up, frowning. She looked too pleased with herself. He looked back at the paper, filling in the details that he needed. "What are you doing?"

"Filling out a report, ma'am."

Veronica stuttered. "What – what do you mean?"

Enjolras shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Like I said earlier, you flew through a school-zone. That's illegal. I'm sorry, but I have to file a report."

Veronica's head drew back as she frowned deeper. "You really can't do that."

"Actually, I can."

"Why?! What is this going to do –"

Enjolras sighed and itched the side of his chin for a moment. "The worst it could do is revoke your license for a few months."

Veronica slashed her hands in front of her, her face turning a deep scarlet. Enjolras sat up straighter. "I _cannot _have my license revoked!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but –"

She was up on her feet, hands on her hips. Enjolras sighed; this wasn't the first time he'd had to deal with an angry client before. "Don't apologize to me, okay! I don't want to hear it!" She faced the wall and bunched her hand at her side, then sat back down, leaning forward, her voice quiet now. "Is this about our argument?"

Enjolras nearly scoffed, his hand clamping around the pen in his fingers. "Excuse me?"

Veronica rolled her eyes. "You know what I'm talking about: our argument? In the library? Is this pay back or something for what I said?"

Enjolras shook his head, chuckling. "You flatter yourself."

Veronica slouched back in the chair, her arms folded across her chest. "Fine. Write the damn report."

"All right, then. It will only take a few moments. And, if you could please get out the money for your ticket, this would go a lot faster." Enjolras shot her a tight-lipped smile before turning to his laptop.

She was even more infuriating than the last time they'd met. Enjolras cracked his knuckles and stared blankly at the computer screen, listening to the sounds of her muttering and rooting around for the money. In truth, he didn't need to write a report for her speeding through the school-zone. But, dear God, she was the most aggravating thing he'd ever come across. Not only was she down-right rude, she was also seemingly incompetent about safe roadway speeds, stuck up, and self-absorbed.

But then again, was he really _this _much of an asshole?

Blowing out a deep breath, Enjolras slammed his laptop lip shut. Damn his conscience.

"I'll cut you a deal," he said, folding his hands together on the desk. Veronica looked back at him, her eyes narrowed. "Are you willing to listen?"

She shook her head and looked away, chuckling. "Sure, whatever."

Enjolras raised his eyebrows, drawing from all his years of practicing in the art of manipulation. "Come to lunch with me and I won't report you." During his early college years, Enjolras had been caroused into working for his father's paper, something Enjolras had sworn he would never do. His father claimed it would help him with becoming a lawyer – all of the lying, and deceit, and manipulation. Enjolras supposed that it did; he learned how to keep a straight face and twist his words, twist _their _words. Soon, after all the stories he'd gathered for his father through lunches, and fancy parties, and secret midnight trysts, lying and manipulating had become a part of Enjolras. And not necessarily a part he was ashamed of. He used it on all his friends, on all his co-workers, and bosses, and professors.

He'd lied his way through college and soon, he would lie his way into a better job.

But first, he was going to lie and manipulate Veronica because he could tell there was something different about her. She was hiding something; of course, people always hid _something, _but her – on the other hand – she was hiding something big.

And Enjolras wanted to know what is was, just in case he needed it for future reference.

"Well?" he asked when she didn't answer.

"Why the hell would I go to lunch with you?"

Enjolras turned his head slightly to the side and smiled, hoping it looked as sincere as he knew it did. "Because then you won't get reported."

Veronica's jaw fell slightly; she clamped it shut and her eyes grew wide, scared even. That wasn't something he would have expected to see. "You're – they were right," she breathed, looking toward the blank, tan wall on her left.

"I'm sorry?"

She looked back at him. "No – nothing." She nodded, clearing her throat. "I'll go to lunch with you."

Enjolras straightened his head and clapped his hand. "Great. Just let me get my things."

Veronica stood up, her face drawn into some sort of confused look. "What? Now?"

"Yes, now." Enjolras turned around from the coat rack in the corner. "Is that a problem?"

Veronica swallowed, shaking her head. "No."

"Good. Then let's go. I know a quaint little sandwich place around the corner."


	15. Lunch with the Enemy

**A/N: I know that Enj is a whole lot different from what most of you are used to. I thank you for sharing your concerns with me. :D He will – eventually – become the Enj we all know and love.**

**(trigger warning: one mention of suicide) **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: _Lunch with the Enemy_

.::.

_June 20__th__; Carl's Sandwich Shop._

.::.

Éponine wanted nothing more than to sink into her menu and become a side platter. She pulled her shoulders nearly up to her ears, looking around at all of the older couples out for lunch and business meetings taking place around her.

God, what was she doing going out to lunch with Jack Enjolras?! This was probably the dumbest decision she'd ever made. When he'd asked her to lunch, Éponine had thought it was to make amends for their argument, but when he'd elaborated on the lunch preventing her report, she hadn't been surprised. This is what Jehan had referred to – the blackmailing. Éponine had no choice but to accept his invitation.

Across from her, shifting in his seat, Enjolras' eyes drifted up and down the menu. "Have you made your choice?"

Éponine startled, looking up. "Yeah, yeah. You?"

"Yes." He turned his head and lifted a finger, signaling for their waiter behind the bar. "Let me just flag him down."

The waiter scurried over, obviously slightly intimidated by Enjolras' presence. He pulled out his pad of paper from his back pocket. "What can I get for you, sir?"

"I'll have a cup of coffee, black."

He scribbled the order down. "Is that all, sir?"

Enjolras snapped his menu shut and handed the menu over, smiling through tight lips. "Yes, thank you."

The waiter turned to Éponine. "And for you, ma'am?"

Éponine swallowed and smiled at her waiter. "A Ceaser salad, please."

"I'll get those for you right away." The waiter ripped the order off of the pad and nodded once, leaving to go to the kitchen in the back.

Silence remained.

Éponine rolled her eyes when Enjolras' phone went off a few seconds after the waiter left. He mouthed an apology and pulled it out, checking the text message. Éponine drummed her fingers on the table, looking away. He finally put his phone down beside his plate and folded his hands beneath his chin.

Éponine furrowed her brow. "What do you want?"

He raised an eyebrow in return. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, you would have never asked me to lunch had it not been for the traffic ticket."

He cocked his head to the side and nodded. "This is probably true. I thought I would take advantage of the situation." He moved his arms out of the way when the waiter brought over his coffee and Éponine's salad.

"I noticed." Éponine narrowed his eyes; she picked up her fork and pushed around a piece of lettuce. She sighed and lowered her shoulders. "I should thank you for not reporting me, I guess."

Enjolras chuckled slightly, picking up his cup of coffee. "You're welcome." He took a sip of his drink and then set it back down on the table. "Grantaire tells me you're from Kansas."

Enjolras swallowed the food in her mouth, nodding slowly. "Yes."

"Did you live there long?" He pushed his pointer finger around the rim of his coffee cup, staring into the black liquid.

Éponine leaned back. "All of my life."

He looked up and narrowed his eyes. "It must have been hard to leave."

She sighed and nodded. "It was."

"Why did you leave, then?"

Éponine sat up straight, raising her eyebrows. "I – it's – it's not important. I mean, I don't really wanna talk about it."

Enjolras pursed his lips slightly, leaning forward. "It's not like you were running from the law or anything, right?"

"What are you – I said I don't want to talk about it." Éponine's voice rose higher than it probably should have; the couple beside them shot her an unpleasant stare. Éponine apologized and then leaned forward, lowering her voice. "What don't you understand about not wanting to talk about something?"

Enjolras chuckled and leaned back in his seat. "Calm down, it was only a question."

Éponine scoffed and shook her head; she grabbed her bag from off the floor next to her feet. "You're just trying to find out some dirt about me, aren't you?"She stood up and hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. "Just like you have dirt on all your friends? Well, gosh, that's probably the rudest thing someone has ever tried to do to me. I'd appreciate it if you just stay away, Jack. And by the way, thanks for lunch."

.::.

_June 20__th__; Éponine's car._

.::.

Éponine slammed the door shut and shoved her key into the ignition. Who the hell did he think he was trying to pull her life story out of her? He would get a hell of a lot of dirt with her story and there was no way she was _ever _giving it to him. How could his friends stand him?

Éponine started her car and averted her eyes when Enjolras left the sandwich joint, shoving his wallet into his back pocket. She pretended not to see when he shot her a sarcastic wave before heading back into city hall. Before she could pull out of the parking lot, her phone began ringing. Éponine answered before she could look at the caller I.D.

"Hello?"

"_Hey, Ronny. It's Ryan."_

"Hey, Ryan." Éponine sighed and itched the side of her nose.

"_How – how are you?" _His voice was tense.

"Pretty good; we can talk about it later. What's up?"

"_It's Max, honey."_

Éponine waited a moment before answering. "What about Max?"

"_He's – um – in the hospital."_

Two words came flying into Éponine's mind at once: the drugs.

Surprisingly, her voice was calm when she asked Ryan her question: "What happened?"

"_He was f – found early this morning in his apartment. He overdosed."_

"I'll be there in twenty." Éponine threw her phone into the passenger seat without hanging up. She tore out of the parking lot and drove back to West Bath as fast as she possibly could. Screw getting another ticket. Screw ever having to go back to Augusta to meet Enjolras again. Max was in danger and she'd promised to help him.

Éponine arrived at the West Bath hospital ten minutes later than she would have liked. The woman at the font counter told her to wait in one of the chairs while she rang for someone up in Max's room; Éponine resorted to pacing in front of the window, chewing on her nail. Ryan pushed open the double doors and motioned to Éponine. She grabbed her bag and ran forward, allowing herself to be led by the elbow to the elevator.

"How is he? Is he okay?" Her question came out like machine gun fire.

Ryan stepped into the elevator and pushed the button seven, waiting until the doors were closed to answer. "He's not dead."

Éponine breathed a sigh of relief, afraid that she had been too late. Even if Éponine didn't feel romantically inclined toward Max, like he did to her, that didn't mean she wouldn't stick by her promise to help him through his addiction.

"Well, that's good news, isn't?" Éponine asked as they stepped out of the elevator.

Ryan stopped walking and pulled her over to the wall as a stretcher rolled past them. "Yes, it is good news."

Éponine, having forgotten all about her odd lunch and previous anger, felt her heart rate speed up. There was something Ryan wasn't telling her. "Then what is it?"

"The doctors had to put him into a medically induced coma."

Éponine frowned, but nodded slowly. "Okay. For how long?"

Ryan shrugged. "Until his vital signs are normal, I guess."

That could take weeks depending on how badly he'd overdosed.

Éponine took in a deep, shaky breath. "Can I go and see him?"

Ryan looked over his shoulder at the nurse's station and then looked back at Éponine, smiling softly. "Yeah, follow me."

Ryan led Éponine to Max's room sixty feet down the hallway. His door was left wide open; Éponine could hear the incessant beeping from the monitors struggling to keep him alive. Éponine hated hospitals, but she stepped into the room anyway. Ryan squeezed her shoulder.

"I'll be outside to take you home whenever you're ready, okay?"

Éponine turned her head and nodded, closing the door behind him when he left. Now alone, Éponine wrung her hands together and stepped fully into the room. The curtains were drawn open, letting in shafts of sunlight that fell against Max's ashen face. Éponine rolled her shoulders and walked tentatively to the end of his bed. All of her muscles were tense with fear.

Watching him, lying prone in the hospital bed, his face white and sunken in, Éponine couldn't help but think of the last time she'd been to a hospital. When her sister had committed suicide, the hospital had wanted someone to come in and identify the body; Éponine had been the only one home at the time, so she traveled to the morgue and identified her sister. She noticed how similar Max looked to Azelma that day.

Éponine's hand flew to her mouth when a harsh sob escaped her. She shouldn't be this emotional. This was Max she was crying for. The man who seemed to grow more and more pushy each time she met with him. The man who had promised he wasn't using anymore just a few days before. She should have never listened to him. The first rule of addicts was that they lied.

Éponine would know.

Shaking, Éponine turned on her heel and flew to the door, nearly forgetting to grab her bag off the chair beside the stand holding the TV. She pulled the door open after a bit of difficultly, tears clouding her vision. Ryan stood up from the floor and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, drawing her close to his side.

"Let's go home, kiddo. I'll make us some nachos."

.::.

_June 21__st__; The Cabin._

.::.

Éponine blew her nose into a fresh tissue, apologizing again as she wadded it up and tossed it toward the can, missing narrowly. She sighed and fell back against the couch. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm so emotional."

Ryan sat up from lounging on the other side of the couch. He rolled his eyes and grabbed his soda can. "Would you stop apologizing?! I understand!"

Éponine groaned, biting back another apology. "Thanks, Ryan."

He shrugged, handing her a plate of nachos. "Anything for you, sweet cheeks."

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Éponine asked, glancing at Gavroche entranced by the Wii.

Ryan followed her eye-line. "Maybe. We'll just have to wait and see."

Éponine stood up slowly, grabbing her glass. "I've just had a weird day – that's probably why I'm so emotional." She walked to the fridge; Ryan turned to face her.

"Maybe it's because you care for Max."

Éponine shook her head and leaned on the fridge door when she closed it. "But we've already talked about this, Ry. I – I don't feel _that _way about him."

Ryan shrugged. "Just because you don't feel _that _way doesn't mean you don't care for him at all."

He had a point – a very good one, in fact. But Éponine wasn't willing to admit that. "I think it's just because I had an odd day," she said, walking back to the couch.

Ryan sighed, but played along. He closed his eyes momentarily. "What happened?"

"I went to Augusta to pay for my traffic ticket and Jack Enjolras was the lawyer." Ryan's eyebrows raised and she nodded, quirking a half-smile. "Yeah, I know! Anyway, he said he would report me unless I went to lunch with him. I had no choice really."

"And then I called you?"

Éponine nodded. "Yeah..."

Ryan sat up and slapped his legs. "Tell you what: tomorrow, we'll go to the movies and then out to dinner. You and me, Grantaire and Walter. How does that sound?"

"That sounds – that sounds nice."

"It'll get your mind off of things for awhile."

_Yeah, but for how long? _Éponine thought.


	16. A Poured Drink or Two

**A/N: On this bright and sunny Friday I've incorporated a treat or two some of you wanted to see! (There are more of those coming, by the way.) Remember: questions at the end!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: _A Poured Drink or Two_

.::.

_June 21__st__; The Caf__é_

.::.

"I'll have a beer, please; they will, too." Ryan opened his menu and smiled at their waitress, the new night staff, Katie.

"Actually –" Éponine began, widening her eyes at Ryan as she motioned to Gavroche.

"Actually, beers will be fine. Soda for the little guy," Grantaire finished.

Katie laughed and nodded. "I'll get them for you in a jiff."

Ryan sighed when Katie left and smiled across the table at Éponine. They'd had a day jam-packed with _two _movies (Gavroche had Grantaire wrapped around his pinky finger.) and an actual game of mini-golf. Éponine couldn't tell if she was mentally drained because once Gavroche started talking about Batman he never stopped or if she was physically drained because it had been such a long day; probably both, but either way, she was glad she'd agreed to go out. It took her mind off Max (who had still not woken up) and off her lunch with Enjolras (which continued to plague her mind for not so obvious reasons).

"Did you have a good day?" Ryan asked.

Éponine nodded, thankful for the air-conditioning vent beside her legs. Who knew Maine could get so damn hot? "Of course." Katie brought their beers over and handed one to Éponine first. "Thanks."

"Sure! What can I get you guys to eat?" Grantaire and Ryan both ordered burgers, Gavroche got mac and cheese, and Éponine stuck to a BLT, like usual. "I'll go put those orders in. Oh, and Veronica?"

"Yeah?"

"We really miss having you around here in the evenings. I mean, I wouldn't really know, but I've heard the stories." Katie blushed.

Éponine smiled. "Thanks, Katie."

"Yeah, I'll just.. go put these in." She smiled and walked away quickly.

Grantaire chuckled. "Nice girl."

Éponine kicked his shin under the table. "Hey, shut up!"

He winced and raised his eyebrows. "I didn't say anything!"

"You did, too! You –"

Ryan shook his head and made a swiping motion across his neck. "Would you two cut it out?"

Éponine and Grantaire ceased their playful banter and asked in unison, "Why?"

"Because _they're _here." Ryan leaned forward, his eyes wide. He motioned toward the door when it opened and all of _Les Amis_, including Enjolras, filed in, taking their respective seats in the back.

Éponine expected her stomach to twist and turn. Instead, it remained remarkably calm. She and Grantaire exchanged amused looks, surprised that the tables had turned. "What's the big deal?"

Ryan scoffed, shaking his head. "What's the big deal? What's the big deal?!"

"Yes, that's what I asked."

Ryan frowned for a moment and then his face cleared as he leaned back in the chair. "Oh. I just thought you would make a big deal about them being here or something."

Éponine, trying not to take the comment personally, laughed. "It's not that important."

"Ha – ha!" Grantaire reached his hand across the table for Éponine to shake. "Little Veronica growing up in the world, huh? Getting over your fears?"

Éponine rolled her eyes and took a sip of her beer. "Shut up."

Ryan winked and smiled broadly, turning to Gavroche. "Fine, moving on. How did you like the movies, Walt? I want a full analysis of each scene, each _second._"

Éponine groaned, holding her forehead in her hands.

He would have no trouble with that request.

.::.

_June 21__st__; The Caf__é_

.::.

Amidst the laughing and talking of _Les Amis_, Combeferre and Enjolras were not speaking. They weren't speaking to each other and they weren't speaking to anyone else. It was the first time _Les Amis _had met altogether in a week; Enjolras should be happy, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Combeferre was pissed with him.

And he had reason to be, after all, but that was years ago. He thought they'd gotten over it. In fact, they had gotten over it and remained the best of friends until two weeks earlier when suddenly everything went sour with no explanation.

Courfeyrac laughed suddenly at someone's joke, plopping down beside Enjolras, nudging him with his elbow. "Well, we're all here – technically."

Feuilly looked up from his notebook. "What do you mean?"

Coufeyrac set his beer bottle down on the table. "Grantaire _is _here – he's just not here. So, technically, we're all here, and that's why you called us, right?" He smirked and looked back at Enjolras, who merely rolled his eyes. "Fine then. Guess not." Courfeyrac stood up and went back to the table he had previously occupied with Jehan and Bahorel.

Feuilly looked from Combeferre to Enjolras, noting Combeferre's angry expression and Enjolras' blank one as they both stared straight ahead. He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "So – uh – politics are pretty heavy right now, huh?" He chuckled nervously, the sound trailing off into the distance. Feuilly itched the side of his head, glancing at the menu board hanging over the register. He slid out of the booth, saying quietly, "Gotta go get a drink."

This left Combeferre and Enjolras alone, directly across from one another. Enjolras rolled his shoulders and looked away for the first time, glancing at Feuilly over by the counter. He moved to leave the booth, but Combeferre cleared his throat.

"You know, I've been thinking a lot lately."

Enjolras slid back into the booth, raising an eyebrow. "Really."

Combeferre played with his straw wrapper, nodding. "Yeah. That Veronica girl – Grantaire's friend – a week or so ago, she and I got into an argument and she said something that's really stuck with me."

Enjolras scoffed, glancing toward the table near the entrance where Veronica and Grantaire sat, along with her brother and (apparently) Grantaire's boyfriend. He wondered if it were mere coincidence that _Les Amis _and Veronica be at the café at the same time. "I doubt it," he muttered, looking back at Combeferre.

Combeferre's nostrils flared. "She said – well, Jehan said that you held something over our heads, that you blackmailed us." He paused; Enjolras only frowned. "She'd asked why we let you control us."

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "That's insane, Combeferre. I don't _control _you –"

Combeferre raised his eyebrows. "I'm starting to think that you do."

His voice was so unwavering and simple. Enjolras had to swallow nervously.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"I'm being perfectly serious." Combeferre leaned forward, his voice low, his eyes angry. "You know what you did –"

Enjolras mimicked 'Ferre and leaned closer. "That was years ago."

"You still –" He leaned back and ran an angry hand through his hair. "You still did it!"

Enjolras shrugged. "Maybe you deserved it after all."

Combeferre resisted the urge to audibly gasp. "Take that back," he growled.

Enjolras ran his tongue over his top teeth. "No."

Combeferre stood up with such force the table shook. The men around him glanced at him with partially amused smiles on their faces, but then turned back to their own conversations when Combeferre said nothing. "You know full well that – that everything you wrote and said was a lie."

Enjolras leaned back, crossing his arms. "I know nothing of the sort."

Combeferre fisted his hands by his sides. "I trusted you!"

Enjolras smiled softly, tilting his head to the side. "You do trust me, Combeferre. You've trusted me always."

Combeferre, with a heaving chest and watery eyes, knew that Enjolras was right. Since grade school, they had been friends; Combeferre would never stop being Enjolras' dearest friend, even if what he had done was wrong and humiliating. "That's not the point," he said, his voice falling.

"Then what is the point? Because you're wasting my time."

Combeferre frowned.

Had Veronica been right?

Had he been blind to see how much Enjolras was controlling them all?

The thought made him sick, ashamed, embarrassed.

His nostrils flared, tears pooling beneath his eyes. He briefly thought of Anna – the woman he thought he was going to marry. He thought of her dead, six feet below the ground. It had been Enjolras' fault that she was dead. Combeferre had never truly seen Enjolras' part it all. Now he saw it clear as day; the pieces fell into place before him.

Calculating what he could possibly to do let his anger loose, Combeferre went with his second option. He picked up the glass of beer next to him – probably Joly's; he wouldn't miss it. Staring into the liquid for a moment, Combeferre's eyes flicked to Enjolras. He sat, still, watching Combeferre intently. In an instant, Combeferre executed his idea and the tall glass of beer was dumped unceremoniously on Enjolras' head.

At first, Enjolras did nothing. There were audible gasps around them; Jehan muttered something incoherent, and across the café, Veronica's younger brother laughed loudly, only to be silenced by Veronica. After a moment or two of simply staring at his beer soaked shirt and wiping the liquid from his face, Enjolras stood up slowly. Combeferre's face twitched.

Enjolras picked up a napkin and wiped it over his face, wringing it out onto his empty plate. He cleared his throat, opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it. He glanced at Courfeyrac and then walked toward the door. He made sure to make direct eye contact with Veronica as he left the building, his eyes flashing with something other than anger.

When he got to his car, Enjolras threw open the door and jumped inside, slamming the door behind him. He flexed his fingers and gripped the steering wheel, not entirely sure where he wanted to go. After a few moments of indecision, Enjolras pulled out of the parking lot and drove the only place he knew he would be distracted: work.

.::.

_June 21__st__; The Café._

.::.

Ryan whistled under his breath and chuckled; Grantaire clenched his jaw and looked down. Éponine blinked rapidly and then pushed her chair back, having finished her BLT.

"We should probably get going." She tugged gently on Gavroche's sleeve. "Thanks for the great day, guys." She smiled, resting her hand on Gavroche's head. "What do you say, Walt?"

He smiled. "Thanks!"

Ryan looked at Grantaire for a moment and then cleared his throat, looking back at Gavroche. "Yeah, yeah. Of course! Anytime, little man."

"Bye, Grantaire." Éponine looked for some response but got none; he continued staring out the window. "Okay, well, see you guys later." She lowered her voice and leaned in a little closer. "I'll call you, okay?"

He nodded and sighed. "See ya."

Éponine led Gavroche out to the car and waited until he was buckled to pull out of the parking lot. They were silent for a few moments before Gavroche asked whether or not anything was wrong.

Éponine laughed. "No, everything is fine. Why?"

Gav shrugged and looked out the window. "That guy poured a drink over the other guy's head, and 'Taire seemed kinda mad."

Éponine glanced at her brother and tightened her grip on the wheel. "Everything is fine, Gav. Everyone is.. fine." She sighed and they drove the rest of the way home in silence. When she was alone in her room, researching some about creating an art curriculum, Éponine felt like she'd told Gavroche a lie.

Obviously, there was something going on between _Les Amis_. That much was completely blatant. And though it was none of Éponine's business and they'd clearly made that fact known, she still wanted to know what had possessed Combeferre to pour that beer over Enjolras' head. Something was also wrong between Grantaire and Ryan. Éponine wondered if it stemmed back to Ryan's accusations that Grantaire was in love with Enjolras.

Maybe he wasn't being so preposterous after all.

Éponine closed the lid of her computer and placed it on the floor. One thing she knew for certain: deep in the pit of her stomach a small bubble of pity had formed for Jack Enjolras. She couldn't explain why, and she certainly didn't appreciate it floating there, but there was no doubt that there was more to Enjolras than a cold, judgmental, manipulating lawyer.

And Éponine was determined to get to the bottom of whatever-the-hell was going on in West Bath, Maine.

* * *

**Question time!**

**One: What do you think Enjolras' holds over everyone's heads? **

**Two: How long do you think it will take until Enjolras and Éponine get together?**

**See y'all Monday!**


	17. Sans the Fireworks

**A/N: There will not be an update this Friday. I'm going out of town for the weekend, so unfortunately I'm not going to be able to get the chapter out. So, instead of Wednesday, the next chapter will be out Thursday. Regular updates will resume next Monday like always.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Sixteen: _Sans the Fireworks._

.::.

_July 3__rd__; West Bath Hospital._

.::.

Nearly two weeks of nothing but pool side reading and Wii battles with Gavroche flew by quickly. Éponine could feel her brain dripping from her ears; the boredom was slowly murdering her. Thankful that the evening at the café only ended with the drink poured over Enjolras' head and the awkward goodbyes, Éponine had not had anymore interactions with _Les Amis._

Max had finally woken up after two weeks of being in a coma. The doctors declared him stable enough once more and brought him out. Though Éponine had visited him every other day, just to sit by his side, when she'd gotten the call saying that he was awake and asking for her, she couldn't help but feel nervous at the prospect of speaking to him again. The day before the fourth of July, Éponine ventured to the hospital to visit Max, hoping that maybe something from his fight for life had changed him.

She checked in at the front desk and decided to take the steps to Max's floor, figuring it would give her time to prepare what she would say. His door was cracked open and Éponine could still hear the beeping of the monitors attached to him. She took a deep breath and knocked twice, entering the room. Max looked completely different. The color had returned to his face once more and the dark circles around his eyes were beginning to fade. He sat up, a small cup of jello in hand, staring out the window. When Éponine walked to the foot of his bed, he turned his head and smiled weakly, though there was no mistaking the spark of happiness in his eyes.

Éponine went to the chair beside his bed and pulled it closer; he reached out his hand for hers. "Hey," he whispered. His voice was raw from unuse.

Éponine smiled and rubber her thumb over the side of his hand. "Hey. How are you feeling?"

Max shrugged, sighing. "Weak, tired, happy to see you."

She bent her head and willed herself not to flush. "I'm glad to see that you're awake."

"Must have given you quite a scare?" Éponine nodded. "I'm – I'm sorry. I didn't mean to –"

"Max, stop. What's done is done."

"Thank you. Come here." Max shifted, creating space for Éponine to sit beside him. Against her better judgment, knowing it would only give Max the wrong idea, Éponine sat beside him, her body stiff. He chuckled, putting an arm around her shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Don't be so tense."

Éponine (this time) flushed and sunk down next to him, placing her head on his shoulder, her heart hammering. He had to know that she didn't feel the same way; that she didn't see this relationship going anywhere. She just couldn't bring herself to tell him right away.

Max sighed contentedly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head; Éponine shifted, wrinkling her nose. Her stomach contracted unpleasantly. "Max?"

His hand continued to brush through her hair. "Is your hair getting longer?"

Éponine frowned when he ignored her question. "No. Well, maybe slightly."

"I like it long."

"I like it short during the summer," she replied, itching her nose. "Max?" She tried to get his attention again.

For the second time, he ignored her. "Can I tell you something, Veronica?" He shifted his weight to try and face her better. His hand pressed onto her cheek; Éponine looked up. Her heart fell. His eyes were so wide with emotion; she prayed to whatever deity would listen that he wouldn't say what she knew he was about to.

"Mhmm."

"I never – When I was asleep, you came to visit me, didn't you?" She nodded, raising an eyebrow. "You talked to me, didn't you?" Éponine swallowed, thankful that she hadn't spilled her secret to Max. It had been tempting; she was sure he couldn't hear, but apparently she had been wrong. "I know because I heard you and – and –" He cleared his throat.

"Go on," she whispered, hoping he wouldn't.

"And you didn't have to come, you could have just left – left me. I deserve it, I know. I made a promise that I wouldn't use anymore and I broke that promise." Looking at the ceiling with tears shining in his eyes, Max smiled. "What I'm try to say is –"

Éponine closed her eyes, sitting up, one leg dangling over the side of the hospital bed. She felt Max's hold on her shoulder tighten. "Please, Max –"

"I love you, Veronica."

Éponine pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. She was afraid of this. When she was younger, her mother's brother had been admitted into the hospital with a terrible case of pneumonia. At the time, he was in a rocky relationship with a woman. While he was in the hospital, work demanded for the young woman to be away often, causing the relationship even more strain. After it appeared that Éponine's uncle was getting better, the woman went to the hospital the day before his release, where in a fit of romance, he proposed to her, only to be declined.

Éponine felt dread and regret pool into her stomach. She slid off the bed, her hand clamped onto her mouth. She should have never listened to Grantaire and Ryan; she should have never gone to Waffle House with him. There was no hope for her to have a relationship – a functioning one – even if she wanted to. She told too many lies and spun too many webs of deceit all for her own safety and Gavroche's.

There was no way she could let Max think that he loved her.

"Max, you – you can't." She turned to face him, but could only look at his bewildered face for a few moments before she had to look away, crossing to the window. Across the street, in a large open field, men were preparing for the fourth of July celebrations. Didn't she have plans to go with Ryan?

"What do you mean?"

Éponine closed her eyes and bunched her fists together at her sides. "You can't love me."

"But – I do. You were the only one to stay by my –"

Éponine turned around, her brow knitted together. "Stop it!"

Max's jaw dropped slightly.

Éponine sighed, her shoulders falling in defeat. "I don't – I'm sorry."

He turned away, angry tears shinning in his eyes. "Don't."

"Max, let me –"

He shook his head. "No. God, Veronica, I thought you were different. Fuck." He bent his head and rubbed his forehead. "Just – just go."

Éponine nodded solemnly, grabbing her bag off the chair. "Bye, Max." She waited at the door for a response, but there was none. With a heavy sigh, Éponine left the room. She was thankful Max was now out of the picture, but a ball of guilt formed in her gut.

She should have never gotten mixed up with him. It was fruitless anyway.

.::.

_July 4__th__; West Bath field._

.::.

"Want some?" Ryan offered Éponine a bite of his funnel cake, licking his powered-sugar-covered fingers clean. Éponine shook her head, keeping an eye on Gavroche ten feet ahead.

"No thanks."

"So, Max is gone then, huh?" Ryan stood up slightly taller, searching over all of the heads for Grantaire.

"Um – Walt, come back! – Yeah, I ended it yesterday."

Ryan sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, shaking his head. "Tough one, man. Breakups are never easy." Éponine nodded, but she didn't mention how she went home and immediately felt a giant weight lifted from her shoulders. She was better off single – always had been, always would be.

Gavroche came rushing back to Éponine's side, pointing to a booth with fish that were able to be won. "Can we play, Ronny?"

"I – I guess." Éponine shrugged. The sun was hot and beating down mercilessly and Éponine was starting to feel a little tired. Having been outside for the festivities since the parade that morning, the ten dollar game limit Éponine had given Gavroche had flown out the window hours before.

"You two go on ahead. I found R. Wanna meet you for the fireworks?" Ryan finished off the last of the funnel cake, speaking with his mouth full.

"Sure." Éponine brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Over at that hill looks pretty good." She pointed to a hill facing the high-school where the fireworks would be set off later that evening.

"Best place in town." Ryan smiled. "We'll meet you there at seven thirty."

"Ronny, let's go!"

Éponine bid a farewell to Ryan, rolling her eyes, as she was dragged off to the fishing game. After standing in line for some time and not getting any closer to the booth, Éponine was nearly ready to call it quits when Gavroche turned around behind her and starting speaking to the people behind them.

"Aren't you the guy that got a drink poured on his head?"

Éponine turned around, ready to strangle her brother. "Walter!"

There was an amused chuckle. "No, it's fine. Yeah, I guess that was me."

Éponine looked up, surprised to see Jack Enjolras holding the hand of a little girl who looked nearly identical to him. "Jack."

He nodded once. "Veronica."

"I'm sorry about Walt here. He doesn't really use his manners a lot." Éponine made sure she kicked Gavroche hard in the back of the leg. He winced and elbowed her hip.

Enjolras gave her a small smile. "This is my niece, Penelope." The little girl, four maybe, lifted her head and smiled brightly. She was missing her two front teeth and was adorned in everything pink. Éponine smiled at the sight. "Say hi."

"Hi!"

"Hello," Éponine said, laughing.

"My brother's daughter," Enjolras clarified. "They're away on a business trip, so I'm stuck with Uncle Duty for a week."

Éponine narrowed her eyes. "You make it sound like a bad thing."

"I'm not cut out to work with children."

Éponine glanced at the way he held her hand tightly and sometimes flicked a stray fly away from her face or fanned her lightly with a flier from the Boy Scouts. "Somehow I doubt that."

Enjolras didn't answer.

Éponine and Gavroche played the fish game and won a whopping zero fish. Enjolras and Penelope were next and they won two. Penelope offered one of her fish to Gavroche, but Éponine declined for her brother. The last thing she needed was for Gavroche to have a pet – even if it was just a fish.

"I was wondering," Enjolras started as the foursome began walking toward the café for some much needed rest, food, and air conditioning before the fireworks. "Would you like to watch the fireworks with Penelope and I?"

Éponine glanced at Gavroche, who was too busy played with a Styrofoam sword he'd won. She had plans with sit with Ryan and Grantaire, but her gut twisted with intrigue at Enjolras' request. "Sure."

Enjolras stopped walking, fidgeting nervously. "You can bring Walter, too, of course."

Éponine found herself shaking her head. "He already has some friends he's going to sit with."

Enjolras nodded, throwing a glance at his niece. He obviously didn't expect her to accept his request – Enjolras was never tongue tied. Éponine grabbed her brother's hand. "We're gonna head this way for a bit, but I'll catch up with you at, like, seven, okay?"

Enjolras took a step toward her when she took a step backward. He looked concerned for a second and then cleared his throat. "All right. My car is parked in the hospital parking lot. Just meet us there."

Éponine nodded, feeling her mouth suddenly go dry. Maybe leaving Gavroche with Ryan and Grantaire wasn't the best idea. "Yeah, I'll – I'll do that." The pair stared at one another for a moment, awkwardness seeping into the space between them. "See ya!" Éponine spun on her heel, her hand nearly crushing the bones in Gavroche's.

"Ow! Ép – Éponine, let go!" Gavroche whined, desperately trying to wiggle his hand free; Éponine only held tighter.

"That's not my name."

Gavroche pulled his hand free and huffed. "Fine. _Veronica. _What was that back there?" He struggled to keep up with Éponine's frantic pace as she tried to loose herself in the crowd.

She shrugged non-nonchalantly. "No idea."

"Is that like a date? 'Cause you just broke up with Max which was a dumbass thing to –"

"Walter, language!"

"Sorry." Gavroche stopped walking, forcing her to do the same. "I'm only saying."

Éponine rolled her eyes. "Of course it's not a date. We hate each other, really."

"Then why did you say yes?"

Éponine pursed her lips. "Good question, but what you really need to be thinking about right now is a good excuse for the boys, okay? Okay. Don't worry about me."

"You know, you ramble a lot when you're nervous."

"Shut up, Walt!"

_I'm not nervous. And this is not a date!_


	18. Not A Date

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: _Not A Date_

.::.

_July 4__th__; West Bath Hospital parking lot._

.::.

Éponine walked amongst the full parking lot, twiddling her fingers together, occasionally stepping up onto her tip toes to search for Enjolras' car. Why in the world was she doing this? She had zero interest in him; he had zero interest in her. She sighed and stopped walking, turning back to look at the field across the street.

"Thinking about ditching us?"

The sound of Enjolras' voice behind her caused Éponine to turn around on her heel sharply. "No." She struggled to appear nonchalant.

"My car is this way." Enjolras jerked his head in the general direction. He picked his niece off the ground and settled her on his shoulder, much to her delight. Éponine frowned momentarily and then jogged quickly to catch up with him; she fell in line behind Enjolras as they moved through the cars. They reached his blue sedan and Enjolras opened the back seat, buckling Penelope into the car seat. Éponine took the passenger seat, her mind relatively blank.

They drove up a large hill behind the hospital to what West Bath considered a "scenic overlook." Really it was nothing more than an empty plot of land overlooking West Bath, a few picnic tables scattered here and there. It seemed that Enjolras was not the only one who had thought to come to the overlook. A large family had settled themselves about fifty feet away from where Enjolras parked, grilling hamburgers and hotdogs; an elderly couple seemed content watching the fireworks from inside their car. Enjolras parked and got out, popping the trunk.

"Do you want me to get Penelope?" Éponine asked as she stepped out onto the gravel. It was the first thing she had said the entire drive.

Enjolras pushed the trunk lid open, his head disappearing behind the metal. "Sure. Thanks."

Éponine crossed in front of the car and unbuckled Penelope, getting an earful about how wonderful of an uncle Enjolras was and how he'd made her spaghetti – her favorite food – twice already. Normally, Éponine would have found the young girl endearing, but under the confusing circumstances, the incessant chatter was nothing but annoying.

Enjolras slammed the trunk lid down, hoisting two large quilts higher in his arms as he walked quickly past Éponine and his niece. "Come on. We need the very front." He walked to the edge of the hill before it began its downward decent, spread the two quilts out on the ground, and sat down, stretching out onto his back. Éponine sat down, tentatively next to him; Penelope escaped her grasp and ran to the edge of the blankets, squealing when the fireworks began.

After moments of uncomfortable silence, Éponine frowned and turned to Enjolras. "What are you doing?"

From his reclined position on the ground, Enjolras turned his head slightly, raising his eyebrows when he saw her angry expression. "Watching the fireworks."

Éponine closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. _Patience. _"No. I mean, why did you ask me to come up here with you?"

He shrugged.

"That's not a sufficient answer."

Enjolras sighed and pulled himself up onto his elbows. "No particular reason, really." He nodded vehemently at her skeptical look. "Honest to God, Veronica." Éponine looked away, still unconvinced. "I think we got off on the wrong foot, many times, and after the incident at the café, I figured I should see why you suddenly changed everything."

Éponine scoffed. "Wounded pride, then?"

He rolled his eyes, sitting upright, crossing his legs beneath him. Penelope cheered loudly and turned around, throwing herself into Enjolras' lap. He winced, but pulled her into a seated position by his side. "You could say that."

"This is bullshit," Éponine whispered, pulling a piece of grass off the bottom of her shoe; she threw it aside after a moment of twirling it between her fingers. She looked up into the sky, appreciating the fireworks for the first time. The fourth of July had always been one of her favorite holidays; she just wished she was spending it with people she actually cared about.

Not Jack Enjolras and his pesky niece.

.::.

_July 4__th__; West Bath Scenic Overlook._

.::.

Enjolras watched Veronica turn away and look up at the fireworks. She'd been right when she claimed his pride was wounded. Hell, it was practically decimated. Combeferre had _never _spoken to him in a such a way, and he never would have if Veroncia hadn't come along. She was irritating at the least; she was intriguing at best.

When he'd asked her to join him for the fireworks, it was a spur of the moment decision. In fact, if he hadn't asked her, he'd be home, putting Penelope to bed. The fourth of July was not his thing. Too loud and crowded for his liking. He couldn't... control what went on around him.

"To be clear," he finally said. "This is not – This doesn't mean anything." Veronica's head whipped around, her eyes filled with disdain and shock.

"Of course not! It – it means less than nothing." She folded her arms over her chest and turned away again.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "No need to be a bitch about it. I was only making things clear. I didn't want you making any assumptions."

Veronica stood up suddenly, putting her hands on her hips. Enjolras mirrored her by standing up, unwilling to her have look down upon him. Penelope stood up as well, but ran back to the edge of the blankets, having found interest in sparklers the large family had given Enjolras on their way out of the car.

"Don't you dare call me a bitch." Enjolras couldn't make out whether her voice was strangled from anger or hurt.

He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "Don't go making a big deal about it, okay? Water under the bridge." He made of the motion of his hand going under the other.

"It's not just water under the bridge!" Veronica groaned aloud. "You are so awful, Jack! To everyone. And I don't get why you asked me up here!"

Enjolras wrinkled his nose. Only one other person called him Jack: his mother and she was dead. Trying to reign in his mounting anger, Enjolras lifted his hands. "Okay, I'll cut you a deal: I won't call you a bitch anymore, if you promise to not call me Jack."

Veronica grew silent; her hands dropped from her sides. Enjolras smirked. "No."

His smirk fell. "Excuse me?"

"I said, no," she repeated, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, looking absolutely smug.

"I heard you the –"

"I shouldn't have to make a bargain with you to make you stop calling me a bitch." She narrowed her eyes and lifted a hand when he began to argue. "Let's just make something clear: I can call you Jack if I want to – it's your given name, after all. But I never want to hear you call me a bitch again." Enjolras narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to retort, but Veronica turned her head away, looking up at the sky. "The fireworks are done."

He turned to look up at the sky. Indeed, the fireworks had seceded and cars were beginning to pull out of the hospital parking lot below. "Yes, they have."

She looked back at him. "We should go."

Enjolras cleared his throat and took a step back, looking at the ground. "Right – um, Penelope? Where is she?" Veronica pointed to the lump in the center of the quilts: a sleeping girl. Enjolras sighed and scooped his niece up, nodding toward the blankets. "Can you get those?"

It was the least she – Veronica – could do, after all.

Enjolras trudged to the car, buckling his niece in her car seat, and popping the hood of the trunk for Veronica. He got inside the car and started it, waiting for the sound of the trunk closing. She got into the car with a breathy sigh and faced out her window.

Once more, they drove back to the parking lot in silence. Veronica stepped out of the car and leaned in for a moment. "I hope this accomplished whatever it was you wanted, Jack."

Enjolras curled his fingers tighter around the steering wheel and gritted his teeth. "Yep, certainly did."

Veronica smirked. "Good. Catch ya later." She slammed the car door shut, effectively waking up Penelope, who began to whimper in the back seat.

Enjolras groaned and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. He had no agenda with Veronica. Asking her to watch the fireworks with him had been fruitless; he'd learned nothing more about her past and only succeeded in driving her away even further. Ever since he could remember, pulling things – fears, wishes, secrets – out of people had been easy. He could ace any class he detested simply by knowing a bit too much about his professor's personal life; he could coerce his friends into attending one more rally by using the secrets he had been told over the years against them.

But Veronica.

She was different. Every move she made seemed calculated – like if she made one mistake her entire world would crumble around her. For once, Enjolras was not able to control something and how it got under his skin.

Obviously, irritating her would not do the trick.

He'd tried to be kind earlier in the day, figuring that would open her up more, but nothing seemed to work. And then he'd gone and called her a bitch and now she hated him even more.

Driving home to the tune of Penelope crying and drunk men running around outside, Enjolras' head began to pound. What he really needed was a stiff drink. Usually, _Les Amis _got together for a barbeque, but that had never even been mentioned this year. Combeferre hadn't talked to Enjolras in almost four days – a new record. He'd really screwed it up – he'd screwed everything up.

"Penelope!" Enjolras suddenly snapped as he pulled into the driveway of his apartment building. "Stop crying!" Of course, his anger only resulted in making Penelope cry more. He sighed and turned off the car, getting out, and gathering up Penelope and her play bag on the floor of the car.

Somehow he made it up to his apartment and unlocked the door, carrying the still-crying Penelope to the couch. When he set her down, she kicked out her legs and screamed loudly. Enjolras really, _really _needed a shot now. Sighing, he knelt down on the floor beside the couch. Humming the song his mother had always sang when he was a child, he soon found Penelope calm and quiet. She rested her head on the couch and sucked her thumb, watching Enjolras with wide eyes.

_Only four more days_, he told himself.

"Wanna go to bed?" he asked; the little girl nodded. Enjolras carried her to the one other room in his apartment. Carefully helping her dress in her nightgown and pulling back the covers, Penelope slipped into bed and was engulfed by the size of the double bed compared to her tiny body. She went to sleep almost instantly as Enjolras turned off the light and left the door partially open.

It had been a long day.

It had been a long week.

After grabbing a beer and falling down onto the couch, Enjolras let out a deep sigh. He looked around the room. The walls were devoid of any homey personalization, besides on cork board with his schedule tacked on for each week. His kitchen was pristine clean, expect for Penelope's sippy-cup on the counter. The living room was bland and starchy. Enjolras furrowed his brow and stood up, shoving one hand in his pocket.

He'd never noticed how boring his home was.

Why was he noticing it only now?

Clearing his throat and shaking the feeling away, Enjolras downed his beer and picked up his phone from off the counter. He opened a new text message to Combeferre.

**Me: **_Lunch tomorrow?_

He was never one to back up from a dispute first, but realizing how empty his home was and having a sudden wave of loneliness crash over him, Enjolras was in need of a friend.

**Combeferre: **_Can't. Sorry._

Enjolras twitched his nose for a moment, sitting up on a bar-stool. **Me: **_You sure?_

**Combeferre: **_Yes. Busy._

Enjolras sighed and set his phone down.

He glanced around his empty house.

Yes, a friend would bring a great amount of help and happiness into his evening.

Too bad he didn't have anyone to fall back on.

Enjolras was alone, and he realized, it was all his fault.

* * *

**A/N: Question time!**

**One: Will Enj be able to repair his relationships? Or are they already long gone?**

**Two: Since the plot had moved on a little bit – what are some more things you would like to see happen?**

**Until Monday! **

**Jess**


	19. Hypocrite

**A/N: Thanks, once again, for your input! (And thank you to **_**judybear236 **_**for helping out, as per usual.)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: _Hypocrite_

.::.

_July 4__th__; __The Cabin._

_.::._

Éponine pulled up the driveway, her features set hard. Still steaming from her night with Enjolras, Éponine had left the festivities, without Gavroche, and driven around West Bath. Though there wasn't much that she hadn't already been through, Éponine must have gone around town twice, desperately trying to calm her temper. She'd wondered what Enjolras was doing. Probably gloating, or drinking, or both. Poor, slightly annoying, yet sweet Penelope, stuck with Enjolras for who-knew how long.

Turning off the car, Éponine looked up onto the front porch. A visibly angry Ryan stood, leaning against the house, his arms crossed over his chest; Grantaire sat on the front stoop, studiously smoking a cigarette. Éponine winced; she'd forgotten that she left Gav with those two. Slowly, Éponine left her car, hoisting her bag over her shoulder. She walked timidly to the end of the stoop, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the smell of Grantaire's cigarette.

Ryan tapped his foot repeatedly on the concrete.

"Hey," she said, holding her breath when Ryan stopped tapping his foot.

"Where were you?" His tone brooked no arguments or excuses.

Éponine considered lying, telling him she got lost, but they both knew she had picked out the spot herself. She thought about telling him she'd met someone, but wouldn't that be too soon after Max? Telling Ryan that she'd been with Enjolras would make her look like a hypocrite. But then again, wasn't she? Éponine furrowed her brow, glanced at Grantaire, and swallowed.

"With Jack," she whispered, looking down at her sandal-clad feet.

Grantaire's head snapped up. "Enjolras? Jack Enjolras?"

"Mhm." Éponine nodded, scuffing the tip of her shoe back and forth across the pavement.

There was a long pause. Ryan slapped his hands against his legs as he pushed off of the cabin; he hopped down off the stoop and turned around at the end of the walkway, keys in hand. "See you later, Veronica. The kid is asleep, by the way." He stalked to his car and got in, turning it on; Éponine could hear the music blasting through the closed windows. She sighed and stepped up onto the porch.

Grantaire stood, then, and stubbed out his cigarette. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Ryan'll come around in a few days. He's just angry you were a no-show."

Éponine nodded, glancing at Ryan's car. "And you?"

Grantaire shrugged. "I don't get you, that's all."

"What do you mean?"

"You say you hate 'im, but you go watch fireworks with 'im." Grantaire shrugged again, raising his hands in mock defense. "But you're allowed to do whatever you want, so – yeah. Night, Ronny."

Éponine wrinkled her nose. "Night, R." She unlocked the front door, and stuck her hand out into the new rain that had begun to fall. Lucky the festivities were over.

Éponine flipped the hall light on, opening Gavroche's door with a creak. She winced, but he didn't stir from his place on the bed. She closed the door once more and then turned the light off, heading to her room.

Maybe the rain would lull her to sleep.

.::.

_July 5__th__; The Cabin._

.::.

Éponine got little sleep that night. The rain did nothing to sooth her anxious heart and the power went out halfway through the night, cutting out the internet, so watching something on her laptop wasn't even an option. Around ten o'clock, with the rain still coming down in turrents, Éponine dragged herself out of bed and to the kitchen, setting up a kettle for tea. After discovering during freshman year of college that she needed caffeine _every morning_, and already knowing that coffee was not an option, Éponine resorted to tea: green tea, herbal tea, or her personal favorite – Madagascar tea.

She passed Gavroche lounging on the couch, the morning news blaring. With her tea heated and ready several minutes later, she began working on breakfast. Halfway through the first omelet, and completely lost in her thoughts, she heard a loud gasp from the living room.

Throwing her spatula down, Éponine turned around. "What is it?!"

"You're on TV!"

Éponine wiped her hands on her pajama shorts and stepped closer to the TV. Indeed, her face – along with several others – were on the West Bath local news channel. Her heart thudded, waiting for the news anchor to explain just what her face was doing on the screen. To her relief, he began to explain that each face was one of the many new teachers at West Bath Elementary school who would begin teaching at the end of August. Éponine clutched a hand to her chest; but she also noticed Max's face was not in with the rest.

He was supposed to be a new teacher at the school, too. He was one of the reasons Éponine got the job.

Éponine brushed the thought aside for later. She patted Gav's shoulder and cocked her head to the kitchen. "Breakfast is ready, kid, and then we've got a few errands to make."

.::.

_July 5__th__; Augusta, Maine._

.::.

After dropping a note off at the café for Ryan to read during his night shift, returning Gavroche's library books, dropping off a letter for Bailey at the post office (She no longer felt like going through the hassle of a three minute, fruitless conversation. Her well-being could be relayed in a quick letter.), and grabbing a quick bite for lunch, Éponine and Gavroche were finally on their way to Augusta for two more errands.

Éponine figured it was time to school shop. By the middle of August, she would need to be setting up her classroom, and since she had virtually nothing prepared, she figured it was better to start while she still had some time left. Plus, the pair both needed school clothes, as well. Augusta was the nearest town with good clothing stores, and since it was raining there wouldn't be too many crowds, Éponine called for a road trip during breakfast.

Shopping took much longer than she would have liked. The two teacher stores were already beginning to run low on supplies, so Éponine had to go to both and buy them out of nearly every art poster or shitty motivational poster. She then had to research where the closest Hobby Lobby was and buy them out of all their art supplies. Clothes shopping, naturally, took a long time, especially since Éponine was buying a whole new wardrobe.

Piling her trunk and the backseat of her car high with her conquests, Éponine and Gavroche – finally – after four and a half hours started back home, but not before one last stop. Parking in front of the large city hall building, Éponine turned to her brother.

"I'll be like ten minutes. Don't go anywhere."

Gav shook his head and leaned back, closing his eyes to rest. Éponine ran up the steps and to the front desk, asking for Jack Enjolras. The woman checked his schedule, and finding it to be open, sent Éponine back to his office. With a hammering heart and damp palms, Éponine knocked on his open door.

Enjolras looked up, obviously surprised to see Éponine. He stood slowly, straightening his tie with one hand, running the other through his hair. "Veronica, what are you doing here?"

Éponine clasped her hands in front of her, looking around once more at the bare walls. "I just stopped by to make something clear – about yesterday."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Éponine nodded. "That – what happened _can't _happen again."

Her cheeks grew warm when Enjolras chuckled, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets. "Nothing happened, Miss Walter."

Éponine swallowed, her eyes closing. "I know – I know, but I wanted to make sure you knew that we couldn't – can't, actually – meet again."

There was a long pause.

Éponine took a moment to study his features: strong build, tall, broad shoulders, _gorgeous _blond hair, a jawline you could grate cheese on – he was handsome, all right. Éponine bit the inside of her cheek. Handsome, but an asshole.

Enjolras looked perplexed for a moment, as if he had something to say, but was choosing not to. "I thought you made it clear that we wouldn't."

"I never said that."

He sighed and a muscle in his jaw twitched with anger; Enjolras looked away, pulling one hand out of his pocket to play with the end of his tie. "Then it's settled: you go your way, I go mine."

Éponine nodded once, her lips slightly pursed. "Good." Her voice sounded empty.

Why was this hard for her?

She certainly wouldn't miss arguing with him. Or being pestered by him. Or being confused by him. Or would she...

Éponine convinced herself that all she was going to miss was a pretty face and nice ass.

"Good," she said again, taking a step back.

Enjolras sniffed once and looked up. "Have a nice day, Miss Walter."

"You, too, Mr. Enjolras." She blushed. God, she sounded stupid. Nearly tripping out of the room, Éponine left the building, shielding herself from the rain. When she looked up from her open car door, she caught a quick glance of Enjolras standing in his window, chewing a straw, watching her.

He disappeared when he saw that she'd noticed.

.::.

_July 5__th__; Augusta City Hall._

.::.

Enjolras fell back into his office chair with the hefty release of a sigh. He felt his tooth break a small hole in the straw he chewed on. Veronica Walter was something else. She'd driven all the way from West Bath to "clear things up?" Enjolras doubted it. He leaned onto his L-shaped desk, tapping his finger on the hardwood.

What did she really want?

Did she just stop by to see him? Probably not.

Was she snooping? Maybe for Grantaire – after all, Grantaire had confessed that he loved Enjolras in the tenth grade, and he'd stuck to that ever since.

Was she snooping for Combeferre? Maybe to get to get the letters? But Veronica and Combeferre had only met twice.

Groaning, Enjolras ran both his hands through his hair. Another knock came from his doorway. His head snapped up. "What?!" He hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but after his sleepless night and now Veronica it had been on hell of a day.

One of the many secretaries recoiled. She frowned deeply. "Call, line two." Before Enjolras could apologize, she stomped away. He sighed again and picked up the phone, patching himself in.

"Jack Enjolras, Attorney at Law. How can I help you?"

"_Would you please get over here?! Penelope – I think – is sick and I don't know what to do!" _The frantic voice of Joly invaded Enjolras' ear. Having no one else to turn to, Enjolras had only Joly to rely on for babysitting his niece during the day. It was the first time Joly had ever babysat and apparently he wasn't doing so well.

"Sick? That's impossible. Did you feed her lunch?"

"_Of course!" _Joly actually sounded offended for a moment. _"But then she sneezed and before I could throw the grilled cheese away she ate it and – you know, Enjolras, she could get the flu and die or something now."_

"I don't think it's that big of a deal."

"_You tell that to all of the pre-schooler's mothers when their children get sick and die during the first week of school because you did nothing to help your niece get rid of her sickness!"_

Enjolras ran a hand over his face. "Has she gotten sick, then?"

"_Well, no, but she's coughing and looking incredibly tired."_

"Maybe because she _is _tired, Joly." Enjolras narrowed his eyes.

"_She definitely has the flu, Enjolras."_

"Fine, fine! I will be home in thirty minutes."

"_Thank you!"_

"You're welcome," Enjolras said bitingly, slamming the phone down. "Wants-to-be-a-doctor my ass."

.::.

_July 5__th__; Enjolras' apartment._

.::.

Just as soon as Enjolras walked in the door, Joly was out the door, holding a paper towel in front of his face. Enjolras threw his friend's back a scowl and slammed the door shut, throwing his briefcase on the breakfast table. He could hear a tiny cough coming from Penelope's bedroom. Slowly pushing her door open, Enjolras took in his obviously-sick niece. She lay sleeping in bed, dark, slightly red circles around her eyes, snot running from her nose.

Great, just what he needed. He was lucky he could work from home.

Taking Penelope's temperature, he confirmed that she had a fever. Enjolras sighed and shrugged off his jacket, throwing it on his bedroom floor. He grabbed a pan from the hall closet and set it beside her on the bed, just in case she woke up getting sick. Then, Enjolras sunk to the floor, resting his back on the wall. He propped his feet up on a Barbie car on the floor, closing his eyes.

He could do this. He could take care of her – maybe.

When Penelope woke up a few minutes later, puking everywhere but the pan, Enjolras cursed loudly, scaring her into tears.

No, he couldn't do this alone.

Scrambling to carry Penelope to the bathtub before she could puke anywhere else, Enjolras dug his phone out of his pocket. While Penelope continued to switch between crying and puking, he called Grantaire.

"Pick up! Pick up!" he whispered, holding back Penelope's hair with one hand, holding the phone to his ear with the other.

"_Yello?"_

"Hey, Grantaire, hey! Could I possibly have Veronica Walter's number?"


	20. The Flu

**A/N: Haha! I'm surprised no one seemed to see that one coming!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Nineteen: _The Flu_

.::.

_July 5__th__; The Cabin._

.::.

Éponine had two large bags hung on each arm when her phone began to ring in her back pocket. Spinning around, looking over her shoulder, she groaned, rushing into the house, throwing her bags over the back of the couch. "Unpack those," she told Gav, pulling her phone out of her pocket, frowning at the number she didn't recognize.

Éponine stepped onto the front porch, thankful that the rain had finally stopped, allowing for some privacy from her brother. "Hello?"

"_Yeah, hi. This is Jack – Enjolras." _

Éponine stilled. Hadn't they just agreed to not speak to one another? More importantly: how did he get her number? "How did you get my number?" She heard the sounds of water running and a child crying in the background. Her maternal instincts kicked in. "Is that Penelope?"

"_Shit – um, yeah. Look, I was wondering if you could possibly drive over here for a couple of hours. Penelope is really sick and I'm not exactly sure how to handle this, so.."_

Éponine raised an eyebrow, trying to keep a smirk off her face. "And you called me because I'm a girl, perhaps?"

The crying had stopped, as had the water noises; Éponine could assume Penelope was in the bathtub. She heard Enjolras scoff. _"No."_

"Then why did you call me?"

"_Because she needs help." _

"_You _need help?" Éponine crossed her arms, looking over her shoulder back into the cabin.

"_No. She needs help." _His tone was practically a snarl.

Éponine frowned and kicked a loose rock off the front stoop. "I'll help her – on two conditions."

Enjolras sighed. _"And those are?"_

"My brother has to be able to come along and you order Chinese food."

"_Deal." _He answered without hesitation. Obviously, Penelope was pretty sick if Enjolras was asking _her _for help. The idea of going all the way to his home was daunting, but not completely repulsive. Éponine could snoop a bit, see what he was up to in his spare time; plus, it relieved boredom – for Gav and herself.

"Text me your address and Walt and I will be there in fifteen minutes."

.::.

_July 5__th__; Enjolras' apartment._

.::.

Tapping his finger on the counter, Enjolras pored over the Chinese takeout menu. He'd been surprised to find it jammed in the back of one of the kitchen drawers, but was lucky to have it. After Penelope had a bath, and seemed to stop puking for a few minutes, Enjolras settled her on the couch with a princess movie. Veronica would be over in five minutes and he had yet to order any dinner. Finally, throwing caution to the wind, Enjolras picked up the phone and ordered what he liked and extra egg-rolls.

They would have to deal with it, he supposed.

The doorbell rang just after he hung up. Penelope startled on the couch, coughed, and returned to her movie. Enjolras went to the door and opened it, resisting the urge to narrow his eyes when Walter filed in, a large backpack full of toys in his hands, and settled himself on the living room floor.

"The kid is gonna be bored, but he can't stay home alone," Veronica said, brushing past him. She shrugged off her light jacket and hung it over the back of a chair in the kitchen.

"Make yourself at home," Enjolras quipped, running a hand through his hair.

Veronica shot him a biting look and then softened, going to Penelope's side. The young girl didn't even realize it when Veronica put her hand against her forehead. Her hand shot back as if it had touched fire; she looked up and raised her eyebrows.

"She's burning up."

Enjolras cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his back pockets; he walked to the couch. "Really? I would have thought that –"

Veronica sighed and lifted Penelope into her arms, ignoring her protests. "Throwing up is not a cure all, Enjolras." He didn't respond. "Where's your bathroom?"

Enjolras pointed to the hallway and led her to the bathroom, where tepid water and little girl's clothing articles lay waiting. Veronica turned around and raised her eyebrow, still ignoring Penelope demanding to go back to the movie. Instead of answering, Veronica sat her on the toilet lid, squatting before her. "Do you have a thermometer?"

"Yeah, hold on." Enjolras left, going deep down the hall to the linen closet. He rooted around in a clear, plastic box full of medical supplies, pulling out two – hopefully working – thermometers. He returned to the bathroom and handed them to Veronica.

"Thanks," she said, taking them from his hands. Sticking one in Penelope's mouth, Veronica sat back and waited, as did Enjolras, intrigued by how calm the girl suddenly was. She hardly ever acted that way around him. Maybe it was because he had such a short temper. When the beeping began, Veronica took the stick from Penelope's mouth and frowned at the reading. "One-oh-one point three."

"Is that good or bad?"

As if to answer his question, Penelope pushed herself off the toilet, ramming into Veronica as she lurched over the side of the tub and got sick – again. Veronica and Enjolras both sighed. Veronica helped the little girl wash off her face and then took her to her room, changing her shirt and helping her into bed. Enjolras came up behind Veronica, looking over her shoulder. Veronica stood up and turned around, clearly surprised by his proximity. Her eyes widened for a moment; Enjolras took a step back.

"Do you need anything?"

She cleared her throat. "Where are your washcloths?"

"In the closet down the hall."

.::.

_July 5__th__; Enjolras' apartment._

.::.

Éponine needed out of Penelope's room.

When she'd bent down to tuck Penelope in, she could feel Enjolras come up behind her. His presence was one to be reckoned with; he filled up a room with unease and timidness every time he walked in. This time, though, his presence was one of strength and a hint of concern. When she'd stood up, her backside nearly collided with Enjolras' front-side, leaving Éponine all too breathless. She quickly excused herself into the hallway, checking on Gavroche, and then skirting down the hall to the linen closet. Gathering two washcloths, she went to the bathroom and wet one with tepid water, wringing it out into the sink. She went back into Penelope's room, sitting on the edge of the bed to try and put as much distance between herself and Enjolras as possible.

She placed the wet washcloth on Penelope's forehead, and handed the other to Enjolras. He took it from her hand, their fingers brushing for a few seconds too long. Éponine cleared her throat, thankful that the dark of the room hid her painful blush. "There. I think that should calm her fever for a little while."

"Thank you," Enjolras said. His voice was deeper than usual.

Éponine stood up quickly, nearly jostling the young girl awake. "Did you order the food?" she whispered.

"Yes – yes, it should be here any moment."

Instead of leaving the room, like she should, Éponine remained rooted to her spot. The light in the room was faint, only the light from the hall coming in. The light fell onto Enjolras in just the perfect way, making him almost look angelic. She swallowed, mentally chastising herself. Why was she all of a sudden finding him so attractive? It unnerved her. Only earlier today, they had agreed to no longer speaking; now she was in his house, about to eat dinner with him.

Éponine had always been very good at keeping her emotions in check. Even with Max, she never felt an overwhelming sense of – well, anything, really. She'd always thought Max attractive, like she thought Enjolras attractive. But Max didn't make her heart beat when he came close, he didn't make her palms damp, he didn't make her throat dry. All of those things, Éponine had found, that in the last five minutes, Enjolras did to her.

And it was irritating and embarrassing.

Because she was supposed to hate him.

Finally coming back to her senses, Éponine pointed to the hallway when the doorbell rang. "That's probably the food."

Enjolras cleared his throat, his back straightening like a rod. He nodded, running a hand over his jaw. "I'll go get it."

.::.

_July 5__th__; Enjolras' apartment._

.::.

As he left Penelope's room, Enjolras let go of a deep breath.

Since when had he found Veronica to be anything but annoying? Since when had he found her to be _pretty_? Better yet: when _was _the last time Enjolras had found someone – anyone – visually appealing? Too often did the guys make jokes toward his sexuality, which was something Enjolras never discussed. He was straight; he knew he was straight. But he didn't see the point in talking about his exploits all the time, like everyone else seemed to do.

Not that Enjolras had many exploits.

When Veronica stood up and nearly collided with him, and when she'd left the room and then come back, bringing with her the scent of vanilla and strawberries, Enjolras had felt his throat tighten. He'd never actually stopped to take in a full view of her; all he knew was that she was a few inches shorter than he, dark hair, tan skin. But when they'd stood four feet apart, cemented to the carpet of a four year old's room, simply staring, Enjolras had actually _looked _at her for once. She was pretty, alright; some might even say beautiful.

The feeling that his head was a little too light and his stomach was a little too squirmy did not bode well with Enjolras.

He was supposed to hate her, after all.

Clearing his throat – again – and going to the door, Enjolras got the food and paid for it, going to the kitchen to help serve Walter. Veronica came out of Penelope's room a few seconds later, her cheeks slightly pink. He handed her a plate and she waited until he was done getting his own food to get hers. Enjolras went to the couch, plopping down beside Walter; they could watch a movie during dinner. This way, it would deter any awkward conversation.

When Veronica came over, her plate laden with Chinese food, Walter didn't seem to notice that he should move over. Veronica sighed and squeezed in next to Enjolras; the sides of their legs pressed together.

"Can we watch The Croods?" Walter turned around and grinned widely.

Enjolras could feel Veronica look at him. "Sure." He was sure he sounded less than enthused.

"We don't have to," Veronica whispered from beside him.

"No. No, it's fine," Enjolras replied, realizing that debate was futile. Walter already had the movie loading through Netflix. At least it wouldn't cost him anything extra.

So the movie began. And by the end, Veronica was crying quietly into Enjolras' shoulder; his arm pressed uncomfortably into his side and his cheeks were on fire from embarrassment. He didn't want to wrap and arm around her – that would be even more awkward than everything already was. But she continued to cry, and Enjolras had a hard time figuring out what was so damn sad. Finally, when there came a choked sob from her mouth, Enjolras tentatively wrapped an arm around her shoulder, laying it stiffly by her side. He moved his hand to her shoulder and patted it twice, cringing.

He had no idea how to comfort people.

Least of all, women.

Veronica's cries began to dissolve into nothing but mere sniffles after a few moments. She wiped at the underside of her nose and looked up; at the same moment, Enjolras looked down. Their eyes met and a blush rose across her cheeks. He swallowed. Faces mere inches apart, Enjolras could feel her breath on his cheek.

Suddenly, there was a sharp cry from Penelope's room and then the sound of feet running to the bathroom. Veronica pulled back quickly, standing up. "I'll go get that."

When she left the room, Enjolras leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, releasing a breath. Walter turned around from where he had decided to sit on the floor halfway through the movie. _When had he gotten there? _"You almost kissed my sister."

Enjolras shot him a dark look. "Not true."

He stood up and walked to the kitchen, carrying his plate. That wasn't true.

Was it?

* * *

**I was going to make very important announcement this chapter, but I'm going to save it for next when I have everything worked out. Make sure you come back for Friday's update then! **


	21. Florida Blues

**A/N: (More notes – plus announcements – at the end.) Last chapter was a doozy, wasn't it? I was feeling a little warm myself.**

**PotterforPrimeMinister: I don't really think 'The Croods' is meant to be sad. I watched it, and I admit, I cried for the last third of the movie. Probably because I'm so close to my dad and there were some things that made we die a little on the inside.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty: _Florida Blues_

.::.

_July 6__th__; The Caf__é__._

.::.

"Max moved to Florida, you know?" Ryan stirred his milkshake, his cheek held in his palm, elbow on the counter. Having made up earlier that morning (starting with Éponine's apology and explanation and Ryan stating that he was only being a "drama queen" for the hell of it), Ryan ventured to the café during Éponine's morning shift. The effects of her evening with Enjolras still lingered, leaving Éponine slightly distracted, but over all, she felt that she appeared normal – hopefully; Ryan had made it very clear that he didn't like Enjolras suddenly seeming interested in her.

She looked away from the pastry shelf. "Really?"

"Yeah." He pulled the straw out of his cup and licked the milkshake off, putting it back in after it was all gone. "He needed space or something."

Éponine fought the urge to roll her eyes. Max would recover, she was sure; but what did intrigue her was the fact of his moving to Florida. Not that Éponine had any reason to be worried. "Did he say why?"

Ryan shrugged. "I didn't talk to him. I think Grantaire did."

"Oh, well, hopefully it will be good for him."

Ryan didn't answer, which caused Éponine to look over at him, confused. Instead, he stood up straight and glared at the door. Éponine turned her head, swallowing when she saw Enjolras and Combeferre walk in.

"I just forgot. I left some food in the toaster." Ryan shot Éponine a wink and slapped her hip as he walked into the back.

Éponine frowned, trying to think of any possible way to come up with an excuse to leave the counter. No one else was on duty; June was away on business. Éponine had full run of the café for the next three hours and, of course, Enjolras would just happen to walk in.

She decided to face the two head on, brave and unwavering.

Their parting the night before had been hasty and awkward. After Penelope continued to puke for at least another hour, Éponine decided to teach Enjolras what to do, instead of doing it all for him. He stood in the back of the bathroom and listened to what she had to say, but was certainly not a hands-on learner, and for that she was thankful. By the end of the evening, Éponine wasn't sure whether or not the evening had made them friends or not.

She figured they were acquaintances – nothing more, nothing less.

And that suited her just fine, expect she kept thinking about their "almost-kiss" as Gav had called it on the way home. But that was nothing of the sort. She had been moved to tears and ended up crying into his shoulder only because he was the closest person to her; not because he smelled like cologne and mint leaves. When Penelope had then gotten sick, they'd only looked at each other, seeing who would jump to the problem first. It didn't matter that Éponine could actually feel his breath on the corner of her lips. No, that didn't matter at all.

Combeferre took a spot near the window, opening the menu with a scowl on his face. Éponine smirked to herself; he had probably memorized the menu by now. She opened the register drawer and pretended to busy herself with counting the money as Enjolras walked, timidly, to the front counter.

He cleared his throat and Éponine slowly pushed the drawer back into the register; she looked up. "What can I get for you?"

For a moment, Enjolras seemed surprised. He then collected himself and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket; Éponine thought he had shaken his head, muttering to himself, but she had to be mistaken. Enjolras was always so composed. "One Dr. Pepper, and one water."

Éponine nodded. "All right. Anything else? And, Enjolras, you know you can order from your seat?"

He looked away from the menu hanging over her head, locking eyes with her. He opened his mouth, but then closed it after a moment. "Yes, of course I know that."

"Then why did you come up?" She cocked her head to the side.

He shuffled his fingers through the money in his wallet. "And two burgers – well-done, please."

Éponine punched his order in, hoping maybe Ryan would get the hint and start in the back; even if he wasn't on schedule, he was present and could work. Cook needed all the help he could get sometimes. "You didn't answer my question."

Enjolras' blue eyes flashed as he looked away in irritation. "I wanted to – I wanted to talk to you for a moment."

Éponine raised an eyebrow. If he had told her that before the night before – the night with their "almost-kiss" – she would have readied herself for ridicule and a lecture; now, her stomach twisted with nerves. "Yeah?"

"About yesterday." He looked up – Éponine was surprised to see – sheepishly.

She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear nervously, twining her fingers around it. "Okay."

"I – you – " He took a breath. "Thank you, I don't know if I mentioned that."

He hadn't, she noted, finding herself to be oddly disappointed. Éponine looked away. "No trouble," she whispered.

"I learned a lot, really."

At this, Éponine turned back to stare at him. He didn't seem the type to openly admit he'd learned something new; if only to prove this further, Enjolras wore a shy smile. His back suddenly straightened and he took a step back, after setting money on the counter; the smile flew from his face. "Anyway, thanks again."

Éponine slid the money off the counter, clearing her throat. "Yep, of course. Any – any time, I guess." She chuckled nervously, shaking her head furiously when he turned around and seated himself with Combeferre. She turned on her heel and frowned at the kitchen door, taking three steps toward it. "Ryan, quit eavesdropping and do something usual for a change!"

She heard two loud laughs, and pots clatter, as Cook and Ryan threw themselves into work.

.::.

_July 6__th__; The Caf__é_

.::.

Enjolras seated himself across from Combeferre, folding his arms on the table as he leaned in, grabbing a napkin absentmindedly. Combeferre set the menu down with a slap, his nostrils flaring. It had been three and half weeks since the two had spoken; even longer since _Les Amis _had met as a group.

"So, tell me what you wanted to tell me," he said, flatly.

Enjolras took a deep breath. His heart still thudded from his short conversation with Veronica; he'd failed in what he had originally wanted to talk to her about, but maybe he could muster up the courage to speak with her later – on his way out, or just not at all. "I wanted to apologize for the evening we had previously."

Combeferre scoffed and pushed his glasses up his nose; a pink V remained from where his glasses had rested for the better part of the morning. "You mean when I poured beer all over your head?"

Enjolras nodded, looking down at the edge of the table. He wondered when Veronica would be out with their drinks; he looked toward the kitchen door. "Yes, about that night."

"Well, apology not accepted."

Enjolras looked up; a warm sense of dread pool from his head to his stomach. "What?"

Combeferre narrowed his eyes for a moment and then his face cracked into a wide smile. "Just kidding. Of course I accept your apology, and I'm sorry for dumping the drink on your head."

Enjolras furrowed his brow, blinking rapidly. "Well, thank you."

Combeferre shrugged. "I just wanted to see how long it would take until you were ready to apologize."

Enjolras loosened his limbs, the dread turning into comfort. "I called you the night after!"

Combeferre nodded and moved out of the way for the food Ryan brought over. "Yes, but I knew you weren't going to apologize then. Were you?"

Enjolras had to admit that Combeferre had him pegged there. "No."

"See! I know you."

"There was something else I'd like to discuss," Enjolras said, picking up a fry.

"Yeah?" Combeferre looked up from his burger.

"Anna."

He slowly set his burger down, running his napkin over the corner of his mouth. "What about her?"

"I did some digging and I found all of my father's records on the story."

"You did?"

Enjolras took a bite of his burger. "You can have them, if you'd like." He raised an eyebrow.

"I – I would like that." Combeferre nodded sharply, as if he had to reassure himself he was making the right choice.

"Come by my office Monday then and they're yours."

"Does this mean that I'm right?" Combeferre asked, his voice hopefully; Enjolras felt his throat tighten, guilt swirl in his stomach. "Does this mean that you had a hand in it?"

Enjolras swallowed, his appetite suddenly gone. "Combeferre, Anna killed herself. I had no part in that whatsoever."

His eyes flashed with concern and angst. "The letters, the receipts – you're telling me you had no part in ratting her out."

Enjolras' voice was unwavering: "I wouldn't do that do you. You're my friend – my _best _friend."

Combeferre sighed, like a weight was lifted from his shoulders, only to be dumped onto Enjolras'. "For so long I thought you had something to do with it. I'm glad you didn't."

"We can both rest easy now, then, right?"

Combeferre extended his hand to Enjolras; he shook it. "Certainly."

.::.

_July 6__th__; The Café_

.::.

Éponine watched Enjolras and Combeferre repatch their friendship with great interest. It was so simple, so easy, as if this had happened before. They got up after another hour of conversation, leaving a tip on the table. Enjolras looked over his shoulder at the door, catching her eye for a moment; Éponine pushed off the counter quickly, trying to make herself look busy.

Her phone buzzed in her back pocket and she pulled it out, expecting to see Ryan's name or Grantaire's since they had made plans to go to dinner, but had no set time yet. Instead, she was surprised to see Adrienne's name. Éponine would think that after no return calls or text messages, Adrienne would get the picture and give up. But she was a persistent girl and did whatever she could to get her way. Éponine smiled at the memory of her best friend; how she missed their late-night chats and Wednesday lunches. If she were here, Éponine could tell her of her weird night with Enjolras; she would know exactly what to say.

Éponine opened the message – which happened to be a photo.

**Adrienne: This hunk kinda reminds me of you, and then I think of you, and miss you. Come home!**

The words brought tears to Éponine's eyes for a moment, until she focused in on the man in the picture. He stood next to Adam, Éponine's friend from back home, his arm wrapped around his shoulder, and Adrienne's, who stood on the opposite side. "Max," Éponine breathed.

Max had moved to Florida, yes. But what were the chances of him moving to her hometown? To meeting _her _friends?

An uneasy feeling settled in her stomach. She deleted the message – like always – and put her phone back into her pocket. She would mull it over later; maybe she could call Bailey, as if he would be of any help. She busied herself with cleaning up Enjolras' table. When she came back out of the kitchen after delivering the dirty plates to get the tip, Éponine noticed a note, quickly scrawled on a napkin.

_Thanks for lunch. I'd like to talk some more. - jack e._

Éponine stared at the note once more and then looked over her shoulder, crumbling it into her waist-apron. She found herself smiling. He wanted to talk more. Okay. Okay, that worked for her, she guessed. And he'd signed his given name; Éponine's smile spread.

She forgot about Max.

She forgot about Ryan and Grantaire.

She only thought about Enjolras for a few moments and that was more than okay with her.

* * *

**Since it's Friday, it's question day! I only have one question this week, though, which I **_**need **_**answered (This is the announcement, btw):**

**After reviewing my outline, I have come to the conclusion that this story can span up to two more stories. As in, 'Witness' can become a trilogy (or just have a sequel). There is still a lot more to cover, which is why, I think, at least having a sequel (if not two) is necessary. I want to know whether or not y'all would stick with the story? If that seems too much, I can chop it down and finish with only one. I'd rather have a sequel or two, because that gives the story much more room to grow. There are some great things in store! If you do want to stick with me, that means that 'Witness' will only have between 8 – 10 more chapters before the next story starts.**

**Let me know what you think about that idea! **

**As always, thank you for the feedback.**

**Love, Jess**


	22. The Golden Rule

**A/N: I am beyond excited! 'Witness' – officially – will expand into a trilogy. Thank you, everyone, for your kind words and telling me that you're happy to stick around. Like I mentioned, I'm pretty positive that we only have 8 – 10 more chapters until Book 2 will begin. When it does begin, I will continue with my Monday, Wednesday, Friday updating routine. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty One: _The Golden Rule_

.::.

_July 10__th__; Augusta City Hall._

.::.

He still hadn't mustered up the nerve to call her.

Four days and she still hadn't called him.

Enjolras leaned back in his chair, tapping the end of a pen against his tooth. It wasn't Veronica's responsibility to call him, of course; he figured the ball was in his court because of the note he'd left. But he would have _thought_, considering her personality, she would have called him – maybe.

Who was he kidding? Enjolras knew nothing of women – least of all Veronica.

Maybe she was really busy. She had mentioned feeling slightly overwhelmed with her new teaching job, which had yet to start, between Penelope puking and crying. Maybe she had other things on her mind: family stuff. Maybe she wasn't interested.

He willed that thought away.

Women, Enjolras knew, were interested in him. No matter where he went, he could feel stares on his back as he walked down the road. Sometimes, it boosted his already-too-high ego; other times, it made him feel too self-aware. Before they'd officially met, Enjolras had caught Veronica staring at him herself once or twice.

He'd thought nothing of it at the time.

Leaning forward onto his desk, Enjolras grabbed his cell phone, searching for Combeferre's number. It rang three times before he answered. _"Hello?"_

"I've got a girl question." Enjolras felt his cheeks color; he stood up and closed his door slowly, knowing that the secretaries liked to eavesdrop.

The other end of the line was silent. Enjolras waited for Combeferre's gloating to invade his ears. _"Give me a minute."_

Enjolras groaned, sinking down into one of the seats across from his desk; he put a hand on his forehead. "'Ferre, come on! Shit, don't be an ass about this, okay?"

His friend chuckled and he heard the sound of him moving throughout the hospital building; Combeferre had been an intern at West Bath Hospital for a year, and hoping his time for residency would come soon. A door closed somewhere and the background grew quiet. _"Please repeat that request for me – just once."_

Enjolras ground his teeth together. "I need some advice about a girl."

Combeferre chuckled. _"Never thought I'd live to see the day.."_

"Combeferre!"

"_Sorry – sorry. Okay. Shoot."_

Enjolras cleared his throat, looking over his shoulder. "How do I ask someone – a girl – to go with me on a date?"

"_Well – ah – that depends, I guess."_

"On what?" Enjolras leaned forward, thoroughly embarrassed by the situation; he shifted in his seat.

"_What the girl is like, really. Who is she?"_

At this, Enjolras colored deeply. "It's – Veronica."

"_Walter?! Veronica Walter?!"_

"Yes..."

"_Then – "_ Combeferre cleared his throat. _"What is it that you'd like to take her out to?"_

Enjolras faltered, his mouth falling open slightly. "I hadn't – That didn't cross my mind."

Combeferre sighed. _"Of course you didn't_," he muttered. _"Were you planning on taking her out to dinner? Or to some museum?"_

Enjolras rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes. Maybe he hadn't thought this through enough before leaving the note on the table for her. "Like I said – I didn't think about that."

"_Then what do _you _want to do? That's probably the worst planning advice ever, but since you're giving me absolutely nothing to work with, it will have to do."_

Enjolras ignored Combeferre's gibes and thought for a moment. His office phone rang; he let it go. "I guess eating would suffice?"

Combeferre gave off a stifled groan. _"A museum, you idiot! Take her to a museum!"_

"What?"

"_She just finished art school; take her to a damn exhibition or something."_

Enjolras felt the corners of his lips turn into a slight smile. "Hey, that's not a bad idea."

"_No, it's fucking genius, unlike yourself. Look, my break is over, so good luck on this date or whatever."_

"Yeah, yeah, you should get back. Thanks, by the way!" He stood up, putting the phone between his ear and shoulder, grabbing his suit-jacket off the rack, nearly tipping it onto the floor in his jerky movements. Combeferre was so quiet Enjolras nearly thought that he'd hung up. "You there?" he asked, snapping his jacket close.

"_Yeah. That's just the first time you've thanked me."_

Enjolras stood still in the center of his square office and swallowed. "Oh.. Really?"

"_Uh-huh." _Combeferre's voice came out quiet, meek even.

"Well – um – thanks. I've got to get back to –"

"_Work? Me, too."_

Enjolras leaned against the front of his desk, his chest feeling oddly pained. "All right, then. I'll tell you how everything goes, I guess."

"_You – you do that, Enj." _He hung up.

Enjolras took his phone away from his ear, in a trance. That _surely _couldn't have been the first time he'd ever thanked Combeferre. In all their years of friendship? After thinking about it for a long moment, Enjolras realized his friend must be right. He ran a hand over his jaw. He'd taken advantage of Combeferre for so many years and he was only just realizing it now; it cut a hole into his heart.

A knock on the door tore him out of his thoughts. The door cracked and his boss poked his head inside the door. "You going anywhere?"

Enjolras pushed off his desk and grabbed his briefcase from beside the coat-hanger. "Yes, actually. My niece is making a surprise return again; I've got to be home when she gets there." Lie. Penelope had gone home the day before. He wouldn't see her for months.

His boss nodded, opened the door fully. He squinted his eyes, as if he didn't trust Enjolras. "All right, but I need you in my office first thing in the morning. There's a case I'd like for you to look at – a bigger case this time. Missing persons, people suing – it's frankly quite a mess, but I figured you could handle it."

Enjolras was already halfway down the hall. "Will do!"

.::.

_July 10__th__; The Cabin._

.::.

Éponine finished researching lesson plans, saved her document, and shut her laptop lip, sitting back in her chair. She looked to her left, pulling her bare-feet up onto her seat, her knees nearly touching her chest. She'd realized the night before that working in the kitchen, with a view of the woods and the river, was exactly what she needed in an at-home working space. Her room, dark and cramped, didn't give her room to move.

Gavroche switched the channel for the fiftieth time and groaned. Éponine smirked and stood, grabbed herself a water bottle from the fridge. She turned around when she heard the tell-tale sound of gravel crunching underneath the wheels of a car.

"Did you invite anyone over?" she asked, crossing to the window overlooking the driveway.

"No."

The car door opened and a slightly rumpled Enjolras stepped out, smoothing his hand down his suit-jacket. He looked into the forest for a moment before returning his attention to the house; Éponine's eyes grew as wide as saucers. She dropped her water bottle, spilling water all over the linoleum.

"It's Jack," she breathed.

Gavroche stood up quickly, pressing his face against the window beside the door. He laughed and waved to Enjolras through the window, who wore an amused smirk on his face. Éponine cursed and shooed him away back to the TV. She opened the door before Enjolras could ring the bell or knock.

He looked momentarily surprised.

"How do you know where I live?"

He then looked startled, glancing back at his car like that would explain it all. "I called Grantaire," he finally said, looking back at her.

"Is that how you got my number, too?" Éponine put her hands on her hips, frowning.

Enjolras nodded slowly, his face morphing into something of controlled annoyance. "Yes."

"Oh.." She let her hands drop. "What are you doing here?" She – secretly – hoped it had to do with the note he had left; but she would never admit that aloud. She didn't even want to think about it for too long. Enjolras had no interest in her besides her expertise in dealing with puking children.

He licked his lips and itched behind his ear. "Do you – Would you like to go to an art exhibit with me?

Okay, maybe she was wrong.

"A what?"

"An art exhibit – tomorrow evening."

Éponine's lips parted slightly; she looked over her shoulder. Gavroche sat on the couch, facing them, his eyes wide with amusement. She stepped onto the front porch and closed the door, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the glaring sun. Enjolras nearly forgot to take a step back himself, so for a brief moment, he stood, towering a near-foot above her. It left her breathless.

After he took a step back, she asked, "Where?"

"In Augusta. Just local artists. I thought you might like to see some – some of the art, you being an art major and everything."

The fact that he'd seen art and thought of her should not make her heart thump like it did.

"That would be nice." She smiled and then cocked her head to the side. "What about Walt? I don't like leaving him home alone for long amounts of time."

Enjolras twitched the nose, glancing at the cabin. "Uh – he –" He took a deep breath and sighed. "He could come along."

Éponine swallowed. That was less than ideal, but she was touched. "Ryan can watch him."

Maybe. He would probably be fine alone, if not.

Enjolras' face lifted. He nodded, smiling. "I'll pick you up at six then?" he asked, taking one step down off the porch.

She nodded. "Sure."

"Great." He turned around, heading back for his car, before turning around again, halfway down the path when Éponine called his name. "Yeah?"

"What – Where is this all coming from?"

"What do you mean?"

"We don't – We don't like each other," she said, making a motion between the two of them. The words tasted bitter and untruthful, on her side, at least. The thought still swam around in the back of her mind, though, that Enjolras was only doing this for blackmail.

It was obvious that her words affected him in some way. He shoved his hands into his pockets, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "That's not necessarily true."

Éponine flared her nostrils, swallowing hard. The thought of what she'd heard him say before, about the poor, about the destitute, pounded in her mind. She didn't want to think of those things. She wanted to think about the way his breath smelled like mint when she was inches away from his lips. She wanted to think about the way every shirt he wore hugged his arm muscles just right. And the way she'd heard him sing Penelope to sleep when he thought she wasn't around to hear.

But she'd heard too much about his hate for those less fortunate to think that he could suddenly hold a true interest in her.

"I remember what you said, Jack," she whispered, the words pouring from her mouth. She couldn't stop them. She had to know if he was being truthful. She wouldn't wear her heart on her sleeve anymore; the time for that was over. Éponine was strong and tough and her heart was calloused. If Enjolras dared come in and break away those callouses – even if she wanted him to or not – he _had _to be truthful.

A shadow crossed his face briefly. "You mean at the café?" She nodded. "About the – About people less fortunate?" He took a couple of steps back up the path.

"Yes.."

"What about what I said?" His voice nearly wavered, but she had never heard his voice waver. It certainly couldn't now.

"You said those things about me." The corner of her mouth twitched and she stepped to the very edge of the porch. "Not directly, but they were about me."

"I don't understand."

She scoffed and lifted her arms. "I'm obviously less fortunate."

Enjolras frowned. "Why should that deter me from wanting to – to spend time with you?" He scoffed, putting off the air that what she was insinuating was incredibly wrong.

"Because I don't know if you're being honest."

The frown fell from his face. He looked away, into the trees, and his hands returned to his pockets. Éponine took this as a sign that she'd been right, that he'd been lying. She bit her lower lip, telling herself that the hurt that pooled in her stomach was only because she missed home.

Not because he'd lied.

"So, you lied?" she found herself asking – just to be for certain.

Enjolras looked back at her. "Of course not. Why would I lie?"

"Because that's what you do. I've seen it." Her voice rose, the hurt swirling into anger. "I'm obviously poorer that you, Enjolras! I don't have what you have; my parents didn't pay my way through college; they don't pay my rent. After what I heard you say –"

He took a step forward. "Veronica, please, I –"

"– how can you expect me to trust you? How can you think that I'll just gladly come along with you to an art exhibition without wondering if you're trying to blackmail me? I don't know what you want, Jack –"

"I don't want anything! If you would shut up for a minute maybe –"

"– but I don't want to be a part of it!" Her words fell into the air and floated around the pair; a pair of birds flew out of the nearest tree, squawking.

Enjolras' chest heaved in anger. Éponine swallowed, waiting for him to respond. She didn't want him to leave; she wanted him to explain himself. If he said that he was being truthful, that he cared for her – even if only a little – then she could begin to trust him, to understand him. He said nothing for a long time.

"I've offended you," he finally said. "That was not my intent. We'll go back to not speaking, since you don't trust me, and I would not want to further embarrass or offend you." He bowed his head slightly, taking a step down the path; Éponine took stepped down onto the next step, feeling her heart quicken. This wasn't what she wanted; he wasn't supposed to leave like this. "I apologize. Good-day, Miss Walter."

"Jack, wait, please –"

Enjolras was already halfway to his car.

* * *

**Well, that was a lot of emotional stuff I (kinda) didn't see coming. I was afraid that their relationship was suddenly moving too quickly; every time I start slowburns that always happens. I get pretty far and then they start moving closer together and BAM it all just happens. But after reviewing past chapters and such, I realized that ****É****ponine wouldn't jump into anything without remembering her past qualms with Enjolras; there was just no way she couldn't look past that without at least bringing it up.**

**Anyway, tell me how you're feeling!**


	23. Drunken Hearts

**A/N: Hello, everyone! Little note about scheduling this week: My Friday is extremely busy, so I won't be home in order to update. Instead of updating Friday, I will update Saturday. Everything will be back to normal on Monday, then.**

**My original outline for this chapter had nothing to do with anything that happens here. But, when I sat down and starting writing this, it turned into too much fun. And also, I like parallels. **

**Remember – tell me what you're thinking. I love to hear from you!**

**Jess**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty Two: _Drunken Hearts_

.::.

_July 11__th__; Grantaire and Ryan's apartment._

.::.

Éponine drained another shot, slapping it down on the counter. Ryan, sitting in the chair next to her, sniggered, taking a sip of his beer; Grantaire, as of yet unaffected by the alcohol, remained devoid of any visible emotion. She sucked in a harsh breath through her teeth.

"I don't understand men," she drawled, squinting her eyes at Grantaire.

"Me neither," he grunted, leaning back in his chair, an entire bottle of vodka in his hand.

"I mean, he just walked away and –" She sighed deeply, her forehead coming into contact with the hardwood table.

Ryan frowned at Grantaire, who stood up with a huff, headed for the living room. Ryan placed a hand on Éponine's shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Veronica, sit up, honey, you're going to die on your own spit." He pushed her shoulders until she was in an upright position, brushing the hair off of her mouth. "There we go."

Éponine, always the emotional drinker, twitched her nose, feeling her eyes fill with tears; she brushed the away, crossing her arms over her chest. After Enjolras had left, she'd gone inside and cleaned up her work space, headed to her room, and gone to sleep. It wasn't until that evening when she got together with Grantaire and Ryan that she'd actually thought about their argument again. And after she'd yelled about it for a good thirty minutes, all that was left were tears.

Ryan groaned, glancing at Grantaire, who was now absorbed with the television. "Please don't cry, Ronny. Come on! We both knew Enjolras was a dick-head." She let go of another sob. "Veronica, _please _stop crying."

Éponine sniffled several times, her eyebrows drawing together into a frown; she shook her head, swallowing. "Who is Veronica?" From the couch, Grantaire turned around slowly, his lips turned up into a smirk.

Ryan raised an eyebrow, trying to keep in his chuckles. As long as she wasn't crying, he could handle her forgetting who she was. "You – you're Veronica."

For a moment, Éponine remained quiet, her eyes fixed hard on Ryan's. "Right.. I'm Veronica. Veronica Rose Walter." Her words were slow, like molasses.

Ryan smiled brightly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, helping her stand up. "And your favorite color is?"

"Red."

Ryan stopped walking toward the bedroom. "You told me it was orange."

Éponine turned, her eyebrows raised. "I know my own life, _Ryan. _My favorite color is red."

"Okay, all right. Stand down, soldier." He continued leading her to the bedroom. "You're going to go to sleep and then in the morning, you'll have forgotten about Enjolras and his ass-face." He gently laid her back in the bed and tucked the covers up to her chin.

Éponine rolled onto her side, facing the door. "What if I don't want to forget about him?" she whispered, grabbing Ryan's hand as he moved to leave.

Ryan sighed deeply and brushed a hand over her forehead. "Talk to Grantaire about it," he whispered. "Maybe he can help you." Éponine cocked her head to the side, frowning. Ryan smirked. "Never mind – just get some rest."

.::.

_July 11__th__; Enjolras' apartment._

.::.

"You don't usually get drunk," Combeferre said, offering Enjolras another beer bottle, which he took and began to drink earnestly.

Courfeyrac smirked, wiping the underside of his nose, leaning his chair back onto two legs. "He doesn't usually have chick problems."

Enjolras groaned and rubbed his forehead. "You two are the least helpful friends I've ever had."

"We're pretty much your _only _friends." Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow, his mouth drawn down in a frown; Combeferre shot him a hard look.

"If you're going to be a dick, you might as well leave," Enjolras said, standing up. He crossed to the fridge and stared into it for a few seconds before closing it again.

Courfeyrac sobered and stood up, extending his hand to Enjolras. "Truce?"

Enjolras shook his hand roughly. "Truce." He cleared his throat and lifted the beer bottle in his hand. "Did you bring anything stronger than this?" Courfeyrac shared a smirk with Combeferre and moved to the counter opposite the fridge where he'd left a box full of stronger alcohols, just in case Enjolras was in a really, _really _pissy mood. He poured him two shots. "Take these."

Enjolras wrinkled his nose, never a strong fan of drinking. After a moment of hesitation, he downed both shots, one right after the other. Both Courfeyrac and Combeferre laughed when his face contorted into a grimace. "Another," he rasped, shoving the shot glass back into Courfeyrac's hand.

"Gladly!"

After several more rounds of shots and beers and glasses of whiskey, Enjolras couldn't see straight. He felt a laugh bubble up in his stomach. Chuckling, he rolled onto his stomach, shoving his face into the carpet. From on the couch, Combeferre lifted his head, opening his eyes. Courfeyrac had already left hours before, claiming he had a date. It was past two o'clock in the morning, and he'd fallen asleep when Enjolras began to recount – in great detail – the inner-workings of the French Revolution.

"What's so funny?" he asked, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms.

"I was just thinking," Enjolras said, rolling back over onto his back; he laughed again, this time louder. "Ver – Veronica –" He let go of a deep sigh, a content smile across his face.

Combeferre grunted, running a hand through his hair. "What?" His tone was full of exasperation and brokered no shenanigans. Combeferre was tired; his eyes ached and his head still buzzed from the alcohol he'd consumed. All he wanted to do was go to bed without having to worry that Enjolras would jump off the fire-escaped on accident.

"I like her."

"Obviously," he replied, falling back onto the couch.

"I mean, not like a lot. She's interesting and she's got great boobs."

"That'll do it do a man." Combeferre's eyelids heaved and his cheek fell out of the palm of his hand.

Enjolras sighed again. "I – I shouldn't have said anything about poor people."

"You say a lot of things, Enj, and you should regret most of them."

"You're probably right."

Silence.

"Do you think she'll give me a second chance?"

"Probably not. She's pretty feisty."

"Unless –" Enjolras sat up. "Unless I give her good reason to."

"I don't think that will ever happen; you've dug yourself a pretty deep hole."

Enjolras glared at his friend. "You're optimistic."

"I'm rational. Didn't you tell me you straight up called her a bitch on the fourth of July?"

Enjolras leaned his head forward, his brows drawn together; he shook his head slowly, unable to recall the memory. "Don't think so."

"You definitely did."

Enjolras shrugged and laid back down on the floor. "She'll get over it." He smiled, laughing once more. "I like her."

"I know. Now shut up and go to sleep."

.::.

_July 12__th__; Grantaire and Ryan's apartment._

.::.

Éponine had never been this hung-over – even her scalp hurt, it seemed. She awakened in Ryan's bed, groaning immediately, throwing her arm over her eyes as sun poured through the open window.

"Up! Up! Up!" Grantaire burst through the door, grinning when the wood hit the wall with a loud bang; Éponine groaned even louder. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty, time to get a move on." He threw the covers off her and grabbed her ankles, pulling her down the mattress.

"Grantaire, stop!" Éponine clung to the sheets with her hands, her eyes squeezed shut. Her forehead pounded; her stomach rolled.

"Nope, sorry, sweet-cheeks. I am _not _going to baby you. For one, you're in my bed, and two, I'm going to teach you a lesson today. So, get up!"

"I don't want a lesson." Éponine wriggled her ankles out of his grasp and rolled onto her stomach, sliding back up the mattress.

"Axel Grantaire, what are you doing?!" Ryan stormed into the room, a plate of eggs in one hand, orange juice in the other; he frowned deeply. Grantaire moved a foot away from the bed, his hands clasped behind his back. He mocked innocence.

"Nothing."

"Your first name is Axel?" Despite her raging headache and upset stomach, Éponine still found room to snigger at his name. No wonder he hadn't ever mentioned it.

He shot her a glare, flaring his nostrils. "We don't mention it –"

"Unless he's in trouble," Ryan interjected. He brushed past Grantaire and placed the food on the bed-side table, smiling softly at Éponine. "How are you holding up?"

"Ryan!"

"Shut up, _Axel_," Ryan sneered. He turned back to Éponine.

"I'm all right," she said, sitting up, hugging her knees to her chest. "I've probably been worse."

Grantaire snorted. "I'd like to see that."

Ryan sighed and rolled his eyes. "Feel like eating?"

Éponine smiled and shook her head. "No, but thanks."

Grantaire clapped his hands together, loudly; both Ryan and Éponine winced at the noise. "Great! Then, get in the shower and brush your teeth because How to Get Over Boys 101 starts in fifteen minutes."

.::.

_July 12__th__; Enjolras' apartment._

.::.

"Ezra Combeferre!" Enjolras kicked open the guest bedroom door, grabbing the nearest pillow and smacking it over Combeferre's head. Even though he'd already puked once and his head was on fire, Enjolras had a fight still burning inside him.

Combeferre shot up, grabbing the sheets, clutching them to his naked chest. "What?! What is it?!"

"You!" Enjolras dropped the pillow onto the bed. "You let me get drunk!"

Combeferre visibly relaxed, nodding his head. "Yeah, sorry about that." He grabbed his glasses from the bedside table and pushed them onto his nose. "I think you needed it, though."

"You know that I hate getting drunk!"

"Yes, but you seemed pretty relaxed after your tirade about France, so –"

"Now I'm late for work!"

Combeferre raised an eyebrow. "You don't work today.."

Enjolras stormed out of the room, a tired Combeferre at his heels. "I actually do. I was supposed to go in yesterday, but the boss called in sick. They're giving me a big case, 'Ferre!" He poured himself a glass of orange juice and drank it quickly, slamming the cup on the counter. "This is monumental and I look and smell like a homeless person."

Combeferre shrugged. "Sorry! I didn't realize that you were so caught up with her."

Enjolras frowned deeply, running to the laundry closet, grabbing the nearest clean shirt he could find. He shrugged the dirty one off and began buttoning up the new one. "So caught up with you?"

"Don't play coy. Veronica!"

Enjolras' fingers stilled; he stared down at them for a moment and then began buttoning once more. "I'm not caught up with her."

Combeferre rolled his eyes. "Say whatever you like, but _twice _last night, you admitted to liking her."

Enjolras felt the blood leave his face. "I did?" he breathed.

Combeferre sighed. "We can talk about it later. You're late."

Enjolras nodded, grabbing his briefcase. "You're right. Shit, I can barely think." He pressed his palm to his pounding forehead. "Wish me luck."

.::.

_July 12__th__; Augusta City Hall._

.::.

Enjolras fidgeted in his seat. He'd admitted to liking Veronica? That couldn't be true. Sure, he could barely remember the night before, but he would have never said anything like that – especially if it wasn't true. After she made it quite clear that she wasn't interested whatsoever in him, Enjolras had worked very hard to purge all thoughts of her from his mind.

It proved to be unfruitful.

On the drive home, angry from the sting of rejection and the shame of knowing that what she'd said was absolutely true, Enjolras had felt more than awful. He'd never meant to cause her any pain; but then again, he hadn't meant _to not _cause her pain, had he?

There was no time to think about her now.

She'd made herself clear.

He would back off – even if he did find her intriguing, and rather smart, and beautiful.

His head snapped up. Since when had he thought she was beautiful? Of course, he knew that she was pretty, but _beautiful_? He shook his head, jiggling his leg.

The door behind him opened and his boss stepped inside, taking his place at his desk. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"

Enjolras sat up. "Sure, sure."

His boss – Jake – handed him a thin folder. "Inside you will find the contents to your case. Basically, this woman from Florida reported her daughter and son missing three weeks ago. Normally, that sort of thing wouldn't apply to us since we live in Maine, for Pete's sake, but _now, _we have another woman from West Bath suing the woman from Florida for fraud. Something about lying, she's supposed to be in jail." Jake sighed and lifted his hands. "I honestly don't know, nor do I really care."

Enjolras looked up, one eyebrow raised. "And that's why you're giving it to me?"

Jake smiled. "Of course. It's pretty messy and messy cases are time consuming and stressful. Good for the new kids." He stood up and shook Enjolras' hand. "Take a look at that and call the woman suing – Jackie, I think her name is?"

Enjolras opened the folder. "June, actually."

"Whatever. Just get started. For the next two weeks, you won't have anymore cases add to your pile, but after that, you'll have to start juggling more and more until you get this one done. We can't have you slacking off, rookie!"

Enjolras grimaced. "Thanks, Jake."

Jake laughed. "That's boss to you, I think, kiddo."

Enjolras glared at Jake's back as he walked out the door. "Right, _boss_."

* * *

**So what do you think is going to happen with Enjolras and ****É****ponine – now that he's sure she isn't interested? And what about his case at the office? Will that interfere with their relationship at all?**

**Keep reading and you'll find out! (That's super cheesy.)**


	24. Tension

**A/N: This chapter is **_**very**_** rough. It was extremely difficult for me to write, and I'm not sure why. I – honestly – could not get anything out for the better portion of two days. I'm really sorry! I hope the ending makes up for the rest of the shit in the beginning and middle, because I like the ending.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty Three: _Tension_

.::.

_July 13__th__; Enjolras' apartment._

.::.

Enjolras surveyed the table once more, checking to see if everything was in order. One of his clients, June, was coming over to tell her side of the story, and explain the happenings behind her suing. Enjolras was thankful for the case – it served as a good distraction from Veronica.

When there was a polite knock at the door, he went to answer it, checking himself the hallway mirror. Gripping the doorknob, he pulled the front door open, a business smile plastered onto his face. The smile dropped almost instantly.

"June?"

June Parks, owner of The Musain, smiled brightly, brushing past Enjolras as she entered his home. "Hello, Jack." She turned around and waited for him to close the door and turn to face her, his face astounded. "I assume you didn't put two and two together and figure out I'm the June in your case."

He shook his head, narrowing his eyes. "The file said June Aster. I only – I never thought –"

She sighed and clasped her hands together in front of her petite frame. "My maiden name. Listen, I only came by for a quick moment. I tried to call you yesterday, but I suppose you were busy." She raised her eyebrows and Enjolras blushed, stepping out of the foyer. "I'd like to drop the case."

His eyebrows reached his hairline. "What?"

"You heard me." June licked her lips and tilted her head to the side. "I've realized that this is futile. Just – just forget about the whole thing."

Enjolras gawked. "I don't understand. I barely know anything about the case at all. Why on earth would you drop it so quickly?" He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

June remained silent for a moment. "What all was in the case file?"

Enjolras shrugged, walking over to the table. He picked up the thin manilla folder and handed it over to June's waiting hand. "Hardly anything, really."

June opened the front flap and let go of a sigh. "Good," she whispered, almost inaudible.

Enjolras furrowed his brow, more than just slightly confused. "Excuse me?"

June looked up sharply, snapped the folder shut, and smiled. "Oh, nothing. It's just better that you don't loose sleep over a silly little case."

"June, I don't understand what's going –"

June waved a hand and shook her head. "Forget about it, Jackie." She nudged his shoulder lightly. "Really, it's nothing. When are you coming around the café? I haven't seen you or the boys in weeks."

Enjolras cleared his throat, noticing how deftly she'd changed the subject; he rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. "It's not too big of a deal – honest. Everyone is busy."

June nodded, holding the folder to her chest. "I don't believe you, but if that's the story you're going to go with, so be it. Now, I'm off to Augusta, dear boy, to let them know I dropped the case, as well. Just – forget this all ever happened, okay?"

"But, June, I –"

June hastened to the door and turned around, one hand on the knob. "I said forget about it, Enjolras!" She lifted a hand. "That's it – case closed." She lowered her voice, her face softening. "Good day, Enjolras."

He sighed, his face contorting slightly. "Good day, June."

.::.

_July 14__th__; The Caf__é_

.::.

Enjolras had had enough of suspicious cases, hangovers, and aggravating girls; he really needed to get out of the house – alone – and clear his head. He was plagued by the case June had suddenly dropped. He wondered what on earth it could have been about? His boss offered no explanations either; it was as if both June and Jake had an agreement to pretend the case had never been presented to him. So, he decided to go to the café to attempt and clear his head. It was rare that he both went alone and in the morning, but he was eager for a nice cup of coffee and relative silence to work on two civil dispute cases he'd been given.

He pushed to door open and took a deep breath of the coffee scented air, moving to a both near the left wall, one beneath a window looking out onto the square. Setting his backpack beside him on the bench, Enjolras unzipped the top zipper and pulled out his laptop, setting it on the table in front of him. As he set off to work, he hardly noticed when a cup of coffee – black, as he liked it – was set before him.

"It's from June."

He looked up at the sound of Veronica's voice, leaning back slightly. "Veronica..."

She held her hands in front of her and looked away. "Enjolras."

"I haven't –"

"– seen me in awhile?" She looked back, cocking her head to the side.

Enjolras winced and shifted in his seat. "Yes."

"Wasn't that the plan?"

_Not directly. _"I suppose so." He looked back at his computer screen.

Veronica drummed her fingers on the table for a moment and then pulled out a pad of paper; she sighed. "Can I get you anything?"

"No," he said, grabbing the cup of coffee. "This will do for now."

She snapped the cover on her paper pad shut and shoved it into her waist apron. "All righty then. I'll catch you around Enjolras."

Enjolras felt his heart hammer; he chewed his lower lip for a moment before gesturing to the bench across from him. "Why don't you sit down for a moment?"

She raised an eyebrow, but slid across from him, crossing her hands together. "What do you want?"

Enjolras' eyes flashed. Her tone was sharp and clipped; and it made his blood boil. Did she always have to sound like she had somewhere better to be? Like he was wasting her time? He'd seen her act normally when Penelope was sick: she was calm and relatively quiet, sensitive, tender. He'd seen her angry and she was like steam that sputtered into the air when hot water met cold. But he _hated it _when her face grew pinched and she refused to meet his eyes. If she had something to say, he wanted to her say it.

"I think we should talk about the other night."

Veronica turned and looked at him, her lips pursed in an unpleasant scowl. "I think we both made it very clear – on more than one occasion – that we shouldn't talk to one another."

Enjolras found himself nodding. "Yes, we did agree to that, but I don't think I handled myself very well, so I wanted to apologize."

Veronica's face softened and she looked at her lap. "I shouldn't have been so rude," she whispered. "People – You could have changed, for all I know."

"I don't change very easily."

She chuckled, still looking down. "I could have guessed that myself."

They shared a quiet, restrained laugh for a moment and then Veronica looked up, appearing contrite. "I'm sorry. I've misjudged you, I think."

Enjolras' heart skipped a beat. "That means a lot, Veronica. Thank you." He willed himself to smile. "Honestly."

She sat up, bolder now. "If – if you would still want to, we could go to the art museum in Augusta this evening? I don't have anything going on."

"I –"

She lifted her hands, her eyebrows raising, her eyes widening at his hesitation. "But if you don't want to, I understand. After what I said –"

"– would like that," he finished, quirking a smile and a brief laugh.

Her face cleared and then broke into a grin. "Oh! Really?" She slid out of the booth, a blush appearing on her cheeks. "Well, that sounds great."

Enjolras nodded, smirking. "I'll pick you up at six?"

She nodded, glancing at the counter, and then back at him. "Sure, yeah. I'll – I'll see you then. Don't be late!" She rushed back to the counter to tend to a customer.

His heart lifted and he licked his lips, running a hand through his hair. He looked away, out the window, a broad smile on his face. That had not been his intention – to be asked out once by Veronica – when he'd come to the café, but, boy, was he glad it happened.

.::.

_July 14__th__; The Cabin._

.::.

"Do you think this is too much?" Éponine stood before her full-length mirror and turned to the side, looking over her shoulder. Gavroche sat on her bedroom floor, playing with an action figure. He looked up and shook his head. She titled her head to the side. "Really?"

"It's fine, Éponine," he grumbled.

She wore a pale blue summer dress with large prints of sunflowers scattered all over and a simple pair of tan flats. She'd gone through all of her wardrobe, searching for the perfect dress. Her floor was covered with clothes, but after an hour of searching she'd decided. Sighing, and smoothing her hair once more, Éponine turned around.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You seem angry. Is this because Enjolras and I had a fight?"

Gavroche shrugged and stabbed his action figure onto the hardwood floor. "No."

"Then what is it?" She sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, patting the spot beside her. He stood up and walked out of the room, leaving his toy on the floor. Éponine frowned and ran after him, giving herself one last look in the mirror. "Gav! Tell me."

He flopped down on the couch and folded his arms across his chest. "What if he's the one?"

"Excuse me?"

Gavroche looked up and groaned. "I said, what if he's the one?"

Éponine's jaw dropped slightly and her eyes widened. Outside, she heard the sound of a car door closing. "That's ridiculous."

Gavroche raised his eyebrows and reached for the TV remote. "He could be, though."

Éponine shook her head and grabbed her shoulder bag, frowning. The doorbell rang and she looked from Gavroche to the door and back to her brother. "You're insane. He is nothing – nothing more than a friend. Barely that even." The doorbell rang again. Éponine went to Gav's side and patted his knee. "If you're worried that he's gonna take me away, that's not going to happen, okay? Now, there's food in the fridge. I don't know what time I'll be home, but don't stay up too late. If you need anything, call me or Ryan." She ran to the front door and opened it, turning back to say, "See you later!"

She stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind her, looking up at Enjolras. "Sorry about that."

He shook his head. "It's fine." He smiled then, glancing at her outfit. "You look – great."

Éponine smiled. "Thank you."

He cleared his throat and took a step back, realizing that they were once again too close for comfort. "Would you like to get going?"

Éponine laughed. "Sure."

As they walked to the car, she hooked his arm around his.

.::.

_July 14__th__; The Cabin._

.::.

Enjolras hadn't thought about the case in hours. Throughout the date with Éponine, not one thing other than how surprisingly happy he was to be spending time with her had crossed his mind. It felt as if the two of them had entered their own section of the universe; nothing could pop their bubble, in his mind, at least.

When it was high-time for Veronica to return home, the two drove home, sometimes in silence, sometimes speaking. They'd worn out nearly every topic possible while walking through the art museum twice in Augusta. Still, Enjolras was eager to know more about her. To his dismay, they arrived at her cabin too fast for his liking. Veronica sighed and looked out the car window; the light in the living room was still on and one could barely make out the TV light as well.

Enjolras chuckled. "I suppose Walter isn't asleep then?"

Veronica shook her head and opened the car door, stepping out. "No, but I didn't expect him to listen to me."

Enjolras got out and walked with her slowly to the front door. When she stood on the front stoop and Enjolras stood on the walkway below her, the living room light went out. Veronica chuckled. "He's probably going to try and fool me."

Enjolras smiled softly. "Don't be too harsh."

After a pause, she replied, "How could I be?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm too happy," she whispered, her cheeks turning a bright crimson; Enjolras liked how easily she blushed. He, too, felt his face warm.

Enjolras looked at her, noticing how the limited moonlight cast a soft glow on her left side, nearly leaving her entire right side in the dark. He took a step forward, the tips of his toes reaching the step before him. Veronica didn't move and her nose came in line with his forehead from where she stood on the top step; he took a step up, she, instinctively, took a small step backward. Their faces rested on the same level and Enjolras leaned forward. He felt his breath quicken as he stared at her full lips, parted slightly. Veronica was nearly gasping for air. His heart clenched.

Inches away from her lips, closer than they had been when Penelope was sick, Enjolras whispered, "Goodnight, Veronica."

And then he left.


	25. Prelude to a Kiss

**A/N: Well, there was a mixture of thrilled people and pissed off people last chapter. Seriously? Did you think I would let them kiss **_**that **_**easily?! ;) **

**I'm planning about five/six more chapters left in this story. Then, I will take a weeks hiatus in order to iron everything out for the next edition! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty Four: _Prelude to a Kiss_

.::.

_July 15__th__; West Bath Municipal Library_

.::.

"You mean he almost kissed you? _Again_?" Ryan leaned forward, an open book in his hands, his eyes wide with shock. Nearby, an elderly woman turned around and shushed him harshly; Éponine smirked and took him by his elbow, leading him around the bookcase.

She nodded, checking over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening. "I swear, I thought I was going to collapse."

Ryan trailed down the row of bookcases to his left. "Tell me everything," he whispered.

Éponine grinned. "I was so wrong about him, Ry. Really, I was. He's incredibly charming and intelligent and –"

"Smoking hot?" Ryan leaned in, nudging her side with his elbow.

Éponine smirked, ducking her head. "Yes, _that _as well."

Ryan stopped walking and placed his hands on Éponine's shoulders. "I'm happy for you, Ronny."

"Thanks." She punched his shoulder playfully. "You can be my Maid of Honor when we get married, if you want?"

Ryan laughed loudly, earning himself several stern looks; he colored and put a hand on his mouth, nodding earnestly. "I'd be honored."

.::.

_July 15__th__; Augusta City Hall._

.::.

He should have kissed her.

Enjolras ran his hand over his mouth again and again, frowning deeply.

_Fuck! _He should have kissed her.

But he'd chickened out. He had no back-up plan in case something went wrong and she suddenly didn't want him to kiss her. What if she slapped him? Or called the police or something? Women were drastic creatures – at least, from what he'd seen of his mother and his brother's wife. Their moods changed along with the wind. He wasn't sure if he was ready to put his heart on the line like that.

It could go either way, as he saw it.

But still – he should have kissed her.

Work was becoming more and more of a bore each day. And with the added mystery of June's lawsuit, Enjolras wasn't sure if he was cut out for the lawyering-life anymore. He'd gone to law school to help people. So far, all he'd done was help people divorce or pay their speeding tickets. He'd rather become a monk than spend the rest of his days doing that.

He leaned back in his chair and smirked. Speeding tickets. That was how he'd been able to actually hold his first conversation with Veronica; he should thank the good Lord for speed limits then.

"What's so funny, Enjolras?" Jake stepped in his office, his lips pursed in a non-amused frown.

Enjolras sat up straight, clearing his throat, shuffling the unorganized papers around on his desk together. "Just thinking, sir."

"Well, you can stop thinking about your love life and start thinking about work – please."

"How do you know – I never told you about –"

"My wife works at the art museum."

"Oh..."

"Like I said, rookie, get to work!" Jake slapped Enjolras' door-frame with the folder in his hand and walked out of the room.

Enjolras' lips upturned into a tiny smile, staring at a nondescript part on his desk. "Yes, sir," he said.

He wondered if Veronica liked Italian food?

.::.

_July 15__th__; The Cabin._

.::.

"Did you have a nice date?" Gavroche shoveled in a spoonful of mac and cheese.

Éponine nodded, smiling wistfully to herself. "Yeah, it was really nice."

"Do you think you'll go out again?"

Éponine looked to her left, staring out the window beside her. She shrugged, swirling her spoon around in her yogurt cup. "Maybe... Hopefully."

Gavroche burped loudly and then laughed. "Did you hear that?"

Éponine regarded him with an upturned eyebrow and wrinkled nose. "How could I not?"

Before he could answer, the phone rang. He jumped off his seat and ran to the phone attached to the wall. "Hello? This is Ga – Walter." He looked at Éponine, chuckling underneath his hand; she shook her head, gathering his empty plate.

"You really shouldn't eat so fast. It's not –"

"Oh. Hi, Enjolras!"

She dropped the plate into the sink, the clatter ringing throughout the hole house. Gavroche sniggered and turned to face her, sticking out his tongue. "Give that here!" She held out her hand, her eyes desperate.

"Yeah, Veronica is here."

"_Gavroche_," she growled, her voice low.

"I guess you can talk to her. But, hey, are you gonna take her out on a date again?"

"Walter!" Éponine pushed Gavroche out of the way and ripped the phone away from his ear. "Go wash those dishes, please," she said, kicking him in the shins, the phone held against her shoulder.

Gavroche skipped to the sink, humming loudly. Éponine slowly put the phone to her ear, clearing her throat. As the phone was old, and still attached to both the wall and a long, twisting cord, Éponine couldn't go out of the kitchen; there would be no privacy for this conversation.

"Hello?"

"_Hi, Veronica."_

"Hi, Jack," Éponine whispered, twisting the cord around her fingers. "How are you?" She bit her lower lip, trying to keep herself from smiling too broadly. What had gotten into her? One date – one that didn't even end in a kiss or him spending the night like it usually would have if she were home in Florida – and she acted as if it were her first date.

"_I'm really good. I hope you – you slept well?" _His voice cracked slightly.

"Yeah – yeah, I slept fine."

"_Great; good. Say, I was wondering about whether or not you liked Italian food?"_

"Sure I do. Why?"

"_Would you like to come over for supper tonight?"_

A second date! Éponine's heart leaped for joy. "Um, yeah, that can work." She willed her voice to sound under control and calm; inside, she was anything but calm.

"_Splendid. Come over to my place at seven then."_

"Do you want me to bring anything?" Éponine hoped and prayed he said no, because she had nothing Italian to offer.

"_Yeah." _She wrinkled her nose. It was one o'clock; she could make it to the store and back with plenty of time to spare in order to get ready. _"Just bring your lovely self."_

She swallowed and glanced at Gavroche, who was obviously paying close attention to her reactions. She turned away from him and cleared her throat; for Enjolras, that was a pretty cheesy-ass line. But it worked, she supposed. Her stomach twisted and her face heated slightly. "Will do," she whispered breathlessly.

"_See you at seven."_

"Bye." Éponine hung up and bit her fingernail. "Gavroche!"

He scampered away from behind her, running into his room, slamming the door. She sighed and shook her head, smiling ruefully. Six hours until her second date with Jack Enjolras. The thought would have seemed preposterous to her a few weeks ago, but now it was probably the most appealing idea she'd ever heard. Before she could leave and make use of that six hours to get ready, the phone rang again.

What if he was canceling?

Éponine's heart drummed in her chest as she picked up the phone. The rational part of her mind told her she was being ridiculous, but her rational side had never been too popular with the irrational side of her mind. "Hello?"

"_É__ponine Jondrette, our agreement was six months of keeping in touch. Not three and then skipping out on me! And that one letter doesn't count for anything." _

She breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "Oh, Bailey, it's just you."

"_What a wonderful thing to hear,"_ he replied, his tone sharp.

"I'm – I'm sorry." She chuckled, amidst her slight embarrassment. "I thought it was someone else."

"_What? Is someone bothering you?"_

She shook her head. "No – doesn't matter." Before he could reply with something he probably thought would be witty, Éponine thought of Max suddenly moving to Florida, meeting her friends. She decided to bring it up.

"_No, I didn't know about this Max. See! That's why you're supposed to call me." _He groaned. _"I'll check into it, but I'm not sure it'll be a huge problem."_

"Why's that?" If Adrienne still had pictures of her up in her house, and God forbid Max go over there, he couldn't miss the fact that his ex-girlfriend's (no less, parading around under a false name) photo was up in Adrienne's house.

"_We've been keeping tabs on your friends. Not too close ones, but close enough to know that they've moved on pretty much."_

Éponine couldn't help but feel a sharp twist in her heart. "Oh.."

"_Well, don't sound too disappointed. It was bound to happen some time. You disappeared, for Pete's sake! You can't expect them to sit around waiting for a call from you all day."_

"I didn't ever expect that!"

Bailey sighed. _"No, of course you didn't. Alright. Thanks for the info. Remember: stay in touch, young lady!"_

"Yes, sir." She hung up, the excitement of her date with Enjolras fading away into a disappointment.

.::.

_July 15__th__; Enjolras' aparment._

.::.

The clock read six-fifty.

She would be here any moment.

Enjolras checked the table. Everything was in order: plates, silverware, wine glasses. The bread was in the oven and the pasta sauce cooking on the stove. He rubbed his hands together, smiling with satisfaction. Since when had he become such a romantic? Cooking big meals was not ever part of his life before Veronica came around.

His heart rate jumped when he heard a timid knock at the door.

He rolled up his dress shirt sleeves past his elbows and straightened his grey waistcoat. Walking to the door, he felt his limbs seize up with worry and anticipation. He opened the door and smiling shyly.

Veronica smiled, but more broad, more confident. "Hi," she said, brushing past him, leaving the scent of roses in the small foyer. She wore a deep purple dress that fell to just above the knees; already, her shoes were off and on the floor, her bag placed on the seat of one of the bar-stools.

Enjolras cleared his throat and stepped up beside her; his hand wavered above her elbow before it fell to his side. "You look great."

She smiled even wider, if that were possible. "Thanks. You look good, too." (Enjolras just didn't know that she was thinking positively the most inappropriate thoughts at, thanks to his muscled chest and arms.) "What are we having? It smells divine."

Following her as she trailed into the kitchen, Enjolras pointed to the pasta. "My mother's ancient pasta recipe."

She turned around from the stove, pouting her lower lip. "Does that mean you won't give me the recipe if I like it?"

He shook his head, chuckling. "Afraid I can't. The only way you'd ever find it out would be if you married into the family." He clamped his mouth shut, his cheeks reddening. Veronica opened her mouth and then closed it, smiling at her feet. He was thankful she didn't respond.

"It's about ready. Why don't you go sit down?"

"Is there anything I can help with?"

He turned off the stove. "No, I've got it."

.::.

_July 15__th__; Enjolras' apartment._

.::.

When Éponine had said dinner smelled divine, she wouldn't have thought it would taste even more divine than it smelled. Over the course of a two hour long dinner, she'd had two glasses of wine and three – maybe more – helpings of Enjolras' mother's pasta. They'd talked of their childhoods (though Éponine made up mostly everything about hers), and of Éponine's new job as the art teacher. Enjolras had told her about the case June had suddenly dropped. Though he didn't go into much detail, it intrigued her, like it intrigued him.

At nine-thirty, Enjolras glanced at the clock and turned to Éponine. "Where's Walter?"

"He's at a friend's house."

Éponine took note of the way Enjolras glanced at his empty plate and grinned slightly. "Oh." He stood up and reached out his hand for her plate. "Can I take that for you?"

"Oh, yes. Thank you." She handed him the plate and swirled her wine around in her glass, listening to the sounds of the plates hitting the bottom of the sink and Enjolras opened a cabinet and then closing it.

He came back to her side, offering her a light jacket. "I thought we could go for a walk. It's slightly chilly outside, so you may need this."

Éponine smiled and took the jacket, slipping her arms inside. It smelled deeply of Enjolras: mint and pure man. She tried not to breath it in too deeply. He showed her to the door and they walked outside. West Bath at night was hardly New York City, or even Florida for that matter. Nearly every house light was turned off, leaving only the light of the moon to walk by. Enjolras shoved his hands into his pockets; Éponine wrapped the over-sized sleeves around her tightly.

"You like West Bath well-enough, I assume?"

Éponine's head turned to glance at Enjolras for a moment before looking back at the road before her. Thirty feet ahead, two cats ran across the street. "I'm still living here, aren't I?"

Enjolras smirked, nodding. "Touche."

"But, honestly, I do like it. It's really quaint."

"A world away from Kansas." Enjolras stopped walking at the end of the street, turning to face her. In the house behind them, one singular light was on in the kitchen.

Éponine sighed. "Yeah, I suppose so."

"I've always lived in Maine." He walked on, toward a small park on the opposite side of the road. "Not here in West Bath, but Maine is my home."

"Do you like it here?"

Enjolras laughed, sitting down on a bench beneath a large oak tree; Éponine sat down beside him. "I'd probably rather live in Augusta. The commute wouldn't be as long and things would actually happen." He chuckled, folding his hands together in his lap.

"What's keeping you here?"

"At first, I never got around to moving." He look at her hard. "But, that's changed now, I guess."

Éponine swallowed, her throat constricting. He didn't mean her, did he? He wasn't telling her that _she _was the one keeping him in Augusta, was he? "What changed?"

He shrugged, looking away. "People left my life." He looked back. "And people came into my life."

Éponine nearly puked. Shit, he meant her! That was good, wasn't it? The way her stomach twisted and an army of butterflies were creating a tornado in her chest was a good sign, yes? "Well, I'm glad you're staying – for the time being, at least."

He only nodded. Then he turned his body to face her; Éponine looked away, across the street, her hands fisted in her lap. Leaning forward very hesitantly and in jerky motions, Enjolras' hand came to cradle her cheek. She felt her eyes close; her brain turned into goo when she felt his breath so close to the side of her lips.

Ever so tenderly, Enjolras pressed his lips to the corner of hers. Her eyes squeezed tightly together, relishing in the feel of his hesitance and unskilled nature. Her hand flew to his wrist and gripped it tightly, turning her head to capture his lips fully on hers. They stayed pressed together for a moment before Enjolras pulled away. His placed his forehead on hers, running his hand through her hair, breathing heavily. Though it was certainly not the most heated kiss Éponine had ever experienced, she, too, felt the air leave her chest.

"You," he finally whispered. "I'm staying in West Bath because of you."


	26. Ablaze

**A/N: In order to bring about the end of Book 1, I've taken some liberties and cut a few things out, so there is a semi-large time jump in this chapter. (And that may happen once or twice more.)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty Five: _Ablaze_

.::.

_July 15__th__; Rolling Hills Park._

.::.

Enjolras felt Veronica pull away, her hand falling from his wrist. He looked up, afraid he'd said the wrong thing, jumped too hastily. Instead, she looked at him with soft eyes as she worried her lower lip continuously. After a long moment, she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand.

He swallowed, unnerved. His limbs still trembled from their brief kiss and a warmth had spread from his head to his toes; thinking clearly was hardly an option at the moment. "What's so funny?" he asked, frowning.

Veronica shrugged, her laughter growing louder and heaver. She grabbed his hands and took several deep breaths before she looked back up. "We – You're ridiculous," she whispered. He moved to pull his hand away, taking her words as a deceleration of rejection, but Veronica held fast, scooting closer on the bench, shaking her head. "No, that's not an insult."

Enjolras rolled his eyes, sighing. "Then what is so funny?"

"We hated each other –"

"I never said that I hated you!"

Veronica raised her eyebrow and drew her hands away, holding them in the air. "Fine, stick with that story, but I know you did." Her smile faded slightly. "And now – now we're kissing in the middle of park."

Enjolras saw the irony plain as day, but still he nudged her with his elbow, searching for the upper-hand. "We only kissed once, though."

Veronica laughed once more. She leaned forward and planted a small kiss on his cheek. "Twice."

He smirked and turned his head, catching her lips on his once more, following suit and deepening the kiss almost immediately. "Thrice."

Veronica sputtered away from the kiss, scoffing. "Thrice?!"

"It's a word! It means threefold, like once, twice, thrice."

Veronica shook her head, smiling at the night sky. "What am I gonna do with you?" she whispered.

Enjolras shrugged. He rubbed her shoulder and kissed the palm of her hand when it came up to cradle his cheek. "Just – just don't go anywhere, okay? I haven't been this happy in awhile."

Veronica paused for a moment and then nodded. "I'm not going anywhere."

.::.

_August 31__st__; West Bath Elementary School._

.::.

Éponine held her hand to her forehead and twirled around on her heel, checking her classroom one last time. Two rows, ten desks in each row, two seats beside each other in each row – check. Painted color-wheel on the back wall – check. Posters of famous art pieces on the left wall – check. Blank wall to be used for classroom artwork – check. Desk facing the classroom – check. It appeared that everything was in order.

Éponine clapped her hands together, her stomach twisting with excitement. She glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes until school would begin; one hour until her first class as a teacher. She grinned to herself and went behind her desk, sitting down. On her desk, rested an apple and "Good Luck" card from Gavroche, her laptop – of course – and telephone, a framed picture with Ryan, Grantaire, and herself from graduation day, and an unopened letter from Enjolras.

Since their second date – the night where Enjolras had kissed her for the first time, leaving her speechless, giving her the sensation of fireworks _at last_ – their relationship had moved along smoothly. They went out for dinner nearly every Wednesday and Enjolras often tried to find something to do that included Gavroche. Éponine had found herself becoming more and more reserved with Jack; as in, when she'd lived in Florida, the first time she and Adam went out, she went home and slept with him. But with Enjolras, things were different. They took things slowly and had yet to sleep together. She liked it; nothing felt rushed.

She liked him.

_A lot._

She pulled the letter over and opened it, grinning like a school-girl.

"_Dear Veronica,_" it read.

"_As I am unable to wish you luck in person, a note will have to suffice. On this, your first day of public school teaching, I wish to you all the luck in the world. Don't be nervous because I'm sure that the children will like you just as much as I do – maybe even more (which is probably impossible, I must add). I'm very excited to hear all about your day!_

"_Good luck!_

"_Yours – Jack."_

Éponine reread the letter once more and then put it back inside the envelope, setting it inside her bag. For the next hour, she sat, simply waiting. She checked her lesson plans, which didn't amount to much since it was the first day, and sent an email to Grantaire and Bailey. Her heart raced as with each passing moment her first day of teaching drew closer and closer.

Finally, at nine-thirty, her first class came filing in. Éponine waved to the teacher at the door, who smiled back and then left. The class – third graders – all took random seats, chatting wildly amongst themselves. Éponine grabbed her schedule. Mrs. Richardson's class.

Stepping to the front of the room, her nerves suddenly gone, her stomach finally settling down, Éponine held her seating chart in one hand and fisted the other by her side. "Good morning, class," she said after a moment.

The class settled, focusing their attention on her.

"I'm Miss Walter, the new art teacher here at West Bath Elementary and I'm very excited to get to know you all. But before we do that, I have a seating chart, so please, stand up and when I call your name, go to the seat I'm pointing to."

After several groans, they complied. Éponine spent her first class learning everyone's names and one thing about each child, desperately trying to learn how to remember each obscure fact. The rest of her day flew past: a second grade class, then sixth grade, then lunch, then fourth, fifth, and first at the tail-end. Éponine had no idea how tired she could be until she finally left the school building and fell into her car. She waited to leave until Gavroche ran out the door and hopped into the seat beside her.

All the way home, he buzzed about his new teacher – Mr. Clark – and his classmates.

"So, I like school now," he said as they pulled up into the driveway.

Éponine nodded, grabbing her bag. "Great." She walked to the front door, rubbing her forehead. "My day was good, too. Thanks for asking."

Gavroche groaned and threw his backpack by the front door. "You don't have to get touchy about it. I was gonna ask during dinner."

Éponine picked the phone off of the receiver. "Whatever. Please go do your homework. I'll order some pizza later because I _do not _feel like cooking."

Gav grumbled, but grabbed his backpacked and stomped off to his room.

.::.

_August 31__st__; Augusta City Hall._

.::.

Enjolras checked his watch. Veronica would be out of school by now. He rooted around for his phone in his pocket and pulled it out, pressing her number on speed-dial.

His _only _number on speed-dial.

After three rings, she picked up. _"Hello?"_

"Hey," he said, pulling a case file across his desk, hoping to multi-task.

"_Oh, Enj – hi."_

He chuckled, furrowing his brows as he searched for a pen. "You sound less than enthused to hear me."

"_I'm sorry." _She paused for a few moments. _"What did you call for?"_

Enjolras set the pen in his hand down, looking up to make sure his door was closed. He scoffed. "I want to know how your first day of teaching went, of course!"

"_Oh! That!" _She laughed quietly, nervously almost. _"It went fine. Thanks for you note, by the way."_

Enjolras nodded. He got the feeling she wasn't telling him something, but that might just be his imagination. He shrugged it off and resumed working. "You're welcome. Do you wanna grab something to eat tonight?"

She sighed deeply. _"How about the caf__é__?_"

"That sounds nice. I'll pick you two up around six, okay? You can tell me more then."

"_Yeah, course."_

"Veronica, really, you don't sound too well. Get some rest."

"_I will."_

"Promise?"

"_I promise."_

"Good." He smiled resolutely to himself. "I'll see you at six."

.::.

_August 31__st__; The Cabin._

.::.

Éponine was more than exhausted: she was depressed.

After getting off the phone with Enjolras, she'd promptly gone to her room and cried herself into a deep sleep. She felt like every time she got used to living in West Bath, used to lying to everyone she knew, something would happen to remind her of home, of the people she'd left.

Throughout the day, she couldn't help but think of Adrienne. She wished – more than anything in the world – that she could pick up her phone and tell her every miniscule detail of her day. Éponine could never tell Enjolras those things; he would listen, yes, but he would only listen to move the conversation topic on. Adrienne would_ listen_. She kept telling herself there was no use crying: she would never see Adrienne or Adam again. She would never get to go to the flea market everyone other Saturday in the summer and scavenge for a valuable treasure. She would never get to go to Thursday Night Drinks again, either.

Now – now she was stuck with her brother in the middle of a forest with barely any friends. Though she had Enjolras, and Ryan, and Grantaire, Éponine was starving for female companionship. June _did not _count.

Quarter till six, Éponine dragged herself out of bed and changed into jeans and a t-shirt, throwing her now-long hair into a bun. Gavroche was waiting in the living room when she came out.

"Where's the pizza?"

She rolled her eyes, grabbing her bag. "We're going to the café with Jack."

"Oh! That's even better!" He hopped off the couch and ran to the door. "And he's here, too!"

Éponine pulled the front door open, pushing him forward. "All right. Go then."

Gavroche rushed past Enjolras, who was walking up the walkway. He hopped into the backseat without so much as a wave. Éponine groaned inwardly; she needed to start teaching that boy some basic manners. Enjolras came up and put his hand in the small of her back, kissing her lightly.

He pulled away and frowned. "What's wrong?"

Éponine did her best to smile, hopeful that her mood would change soon. "I'm just tired."

He cocked an eyebrow. "I thought I told you to get some rest."

She smiled ruefully. "I did – a little."

Enjolras clucked his tongue and lead her to the car, opening the car door for her. She stepped inside. They drove to the café, listening to Gavroche recount his day to Jack. Éponine tuned most of it out, but felt grateful when Jack reached for her hand and pulled it across to settle on his leg. He shot her a small smile.

At six-twenty, they turned down Main Street. Gavroche had finally finished telling his story and Éponine was just about to open her mouth when Enjolras slowed the car down. He leaned forward and peered out the windshield.

"Do you see that?" he asked, nearly breathless.

Éponine shook her head. She, too, leaned forward and was going to say, "No," when she caught sight of the smoke rising from three buildings away. "What is that?"

"Is that a fire?" Gavroche asked.

Around them, a fire truck whizzed past, narrowly missing Enjolras' car. Enjolras cursed loudly and swerved, dropping Éponine's hand. "Jack, drive down!" Éponine shoved his shoulder lightly, her heart quickening.

"What do you think I'm doing?!" Enjolras bit back, trying to pull onto the now-busy Main Street.

She huffed and sat back in her seat, crossing her arms. Enjolras timidly drove further down the street until he reached the café. "Oh shit," Éponine whispered.

"Motherfu –" Enjolras turned off the car, stepping out slowly; Éponine followed suit, telling Gavroche to stay in the car as she stepped out.

The roof of the café was ablaze with fire.

Éponine had never seen anything like it. Everywhere fire licked the shingles and the wood of the top floor structure. Firemen raced to get the flames under control, but all seemed for naught. The old structure didn't stand a chance.

Éponine put her hand on her mouth, feeling tears spring up behind her eyelids. The café – she didn't realize – had meant so much to her. To watch it burn before her eyes cut deeply. Enjolras, having nearly grown up in the establishment, remained silent and still, his hands in his pockets. Éponine looked at him for a moment, wondering whether or not she should comfort him or go to him for comfort. She decided neither and instead turned around when she heard June speaking to a police man.

She ran to the woman's side once the man left, wrapping her arms around her neck. The woman – who suddenly seemed twenty years older – sobbed and patted Éponine's back slowly, methodically. "June, I'm so sorry," Éponine whispered. She didn't reply.

After several moments of openly weeping with June, letting out all of her frustrations, Éponine pulled away when another car pulled up beside Enjolras'. Grantaire and Ryan filed out. Ryan came to her side; Grantaire went to Enjolras'. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the dark-haired man embrace the fair-haired one. There was a twinge of jealousy in her stomach for a moment, but it faded when Ryan gathered her into a hug.

"Do you know what happened?" he whispered, tense.

"No," she replied.

"Damn shame."

Éponine pulled away from Ryan, but wrapped her arm around his back, leaning her head on his shoulder. The two of them stood together in the parking lot, watching the café turn into dust and ashes.

"Yeah – damn shame."


	27. Pain

**A/N: Two announcements – one: after this chapter, we have two (three at the most) more chapters! And two: there will be ****no**** updates next week. I'm really sorry. I'm going to take that time to finish this story and begin the next, so then I already have stuff down for y'all. **

**Trigger warning: mention of domestic violence.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty Six: _Pain_

.::.

_August 31__st__; Enjolras' apartment._

.::.

With his apartment filled with all eight other _Les Amis _and their respective significant others, Ryan, Grantaire, Veronica and Walter, June, and one policeman, Enjolras felt that he had good reason to feel stifled. Never in his life had his apartment been so crowded. Or filled with tears.

Either way, Enjolras felt like he couldn't breathe.

He slipped out of the living room when he was sure no one noticed and into his bedroom, closing the door quietly. He ran his hands through his hair, breathing deeply. The café had burnt completely; it was if the place had never existed. He blinked rapidly, looking around his pristine room, swallowing away his tears. He walked to the far wall and wrenched open his window, climbing out nimbly onto the fire escape. He sat down on the edge, his feet dangling over the street below him. He leaned back, resting his weight on the palms of his hands.

Behind him, he heard a muffled grunt and then two bare-feet slammed onto the iron grating his sat upon. Veronica stood upright and brushed the hair out of her face, her breathing labored. "Shit. I had to crawl over your dresser to get out here."

He snorted. "You could have used the other window."

Veronica turned around and raised her eyebrows, taking notice of the window Enjolras had used for – apparently – the first time. She sat down beside him and nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."

They sat, side by side, in heavy silence. The sun was beginning to set, the sky a hazy orange. On the road below, cars drove past once and awhile, husbands returning to their families after a long day of work. Enjolras found it hard to believe that anyone could be going about their daily lives, when his own life had been thrown into such an uproar.

Veronica nudged him with her shoulder, leaning in to get a better look at his face. "You okay?" He scoffed and sat up, clasping his hands together; he looked away from her, rubbing the underside of his nose. Veronica sighed deeply. "I know – I know we haven't made anything official yet," she whispered. "But I care about you, Jack."

He turned his head slightly, enough so that she had a clear view of his profile. Slowly, he took her hand in his and looked ahead. "Sorry," he grunted, clearing his throat.

Veronica removed her hand from his and grasped his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "I know this must be hard for you."

He nodded and looked down, sniffing violently. He wouldn't cry; he wouldn't cry; he wouldn't cry. "Yeah, it's hard." His voice was a rasp. Veronica leaned her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arm around his back. "I practically grew up there," he whispered after a moment. "It's – it's hard to see –" He sat up straight and wiped at his eyes.

Veronica pulled away and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear; she looked away, across the road. "June said it was the attic that caught fire. A spark from an old light she was using or something.."

Enjolras frowned. "There is no attic. June – After Justin died, she made it into her home."

"Oh.." Veronica pursed her lips. "Well, she said it happened in the attic."

"Veronica, there is no attic." Enjolras turned took look at her, frowning deeply now.

She turned and lifted her brows, her eyes narrowing. "I'm only telling you what she told me."

He sighed and placed a hand on the back of her neck, pressing his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged and bent forward, kissing him softly. "It's fine."

He pulled away, his eyes half-closed. After a moment, he opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean nothing is official between us?"

Veronica laughed nervously, shoving her hands under her thighs; she looked forward, away from Enjolras' searching glance. "I just meant – We never really said –" She trailed off, looking at him, then away sheepishly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

"You know!" She looked back, the smile gone from her face. When Enjolras made no move to alleviate her the awkwardness, she groaned, throwing her hands into the air. "We haven't said 'boyfriend' or 'girlfriend' yet, dammit!"

Enjolras' brows lowered and he looked forward, nodding. "Oh – Well, I thought we were pretty official."

Veronica looked at him sharply, her neck cracking. "You did?"

He shrugged and smirked, glancing at her, nudging her shoulder with his own. "I'm not too in-the-know when it comes to dating, you know?"

She chuckled and ducked her head. "So, are we?" she whispered, looking back up.

He leaned forward. "Are we what?"

Veronica sighed and rolled her eyes. "Official?"

He shrugged and kissed her again, returning his hand to the back of her neck. Veronica leaned into the kiss and scooted forward, her one hand on his shoulder, the other just below his jaw. Enjolras felt his limbs seize. Every time he kissed her like this – slow and passionate – he felt like liquid fire. He could kiss her all day, every day.

"Whoa, whoa! Slow down there!" Veronica ripped away from Enjolras when Courfeyrac climbed onto the fire escape, plopping down in-between the pair. "You know, I'd like to be an uncle, but not yet, so keep it in your pants," he said, pointing directly at Enjolras.

Enjolras blushed heavily and grumbled something, turning away. Courfeyrac sighed and looked out onto the room, swinging his legs over the street. "So, June went home with one of the guys for the evening," he said finally.

Enjolras turned to his friend, clearing his throat. "She could have stayed here for the night. I think – at least, I thought I offered."

Courfeyrac shook his head. "I think she went back with Grantaire."

"Grantaire?!"

"Yeah. I don't know the reasoning behind that, but whatever."

Enjolras glanced at Veronica, who was studiously picking at her nail, avoiding the conversation. He turned back to Courf. "How are you holding up?"

"Me? Eh, I'm fine." He shrugged, wiping the underside of his nose. "It's Jehan you should be worried about. He's _still _crying."

"Well, that's Jehan for you," Enjolras whispered, leaning back on his palms once more.

After a moment of heavy, somber silence, Veronica titled her head to the side, chewing on the side of her finger in thought. "Do you think someone set the café on fire?"

Courfeyrac scoffed, glancing at Enjolras with an upturned chin. Enjolras winced, sitting up; he'd forgotten. Since _Les Amis _had been inactive for so long, it hadn't crossed his mind that his friends may still think the way he had not too long ago. He saw Veronica blush and look away. He remained silent, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Anyway," Courfeyrac said. "June's already making plans to rebuild."

"Jack –" Veronica leaned forward, attempting to catch his eye. Enjolras, nervous about his friends sudden reappearance, wouldn't maintain eye-contact.

Courfeyrac spoke over her. "She wants to make something bigger, though. You know, more revenue and stuff."

"Jack!"

Enjolras opened his mouth, glancing at Veronica quickly; her eyes were hard-set with anger. "Courf, I think –"

"But I'm not so sure I want the place to get bigger, you know? Like we've been going there since we were –"

"_Jack!_"

"Courfeyrac!"

"– kids and so –"

Veronica stood up quickly, brushing the hair away from her face. She moved to say something, but faltered, stumbling to the window. She climbed back inside and was gone before Enjolras could stand up and stop her. He stood up slowly and turned, facing away from Courfeyrac, running both his hands through his hair.

"Was it something I said?" Courfeyrac asked, raising his eyebrows.

Enjolras groaned and shook his head, rubbing his forehead.

.::.

_September 1__st__; The Cabin._

.::.

Éponine unpacked her bag and sighed, rubbing her nose, sniffing. She hoped she wasn't coming down with a cold already; and on the second day of school. Gavroche whizzed past her, throwing open the fridge door, pulling out the orange juice.

"Not too much!" she said, just as he began to pour. "I don't know when I'll have time to go to the store."

"Okay." He placed the cap back on the bottle and placed it back into the fridge. "How was your day?"

Éponine shrugged, opening the packet of "Get to Know You" papers she had yet to grade. "It was alright. Yours?"

"Fine. Are you okay?"

Éponine looked up, refusing to think of Courfeyrac and his blatant disregard of her, or the way Enjolras had sat back and said nothing. "Yeah! I'm fine."

Gavroche shrugged and smiled. "Okay. I'm gonna go do my homework then."

"Good lad," Éponine said, ruffling his hair. She sighed, watching him walk away. When the door to his bedroom closed, Éponine sat down and rubbed her forehead.

What had transpired at Enjolras' apartment the day before had really, _really _hurt her feelings. Probably more than it should have. She thought Enjolras had changed; actually, she _knew _he had changed. But she'd forgotten about his friends. Not all of them were like Grantaire or Enjolras; their minds were still sealed shut.

She set about reading her student's papers, trying not to think of the previous day's events. Her phone rang halfway through the large stack of papers. She picked it up without glancing at the name on the screen.

"Hello?"

"_Veronica?"_

She resisted the urge to sigh with disappointment. "Oh.. Jack, it's you."

On the other end of the line, Enjolras groaned. _"Look, Veronica, I'm sorry about yesterday. Every – With everything that happened, I just –"_

This time she did sigh – heavily. "Jack, I know –"

"_Just let me explain myself!"_

"You don't have –"

"_I know I should have said something. And I'm sorry that I didn't, okay? Courfeyrac – he just doesn't.." _Enjolras sighed. _"Veronica, I'm sorry."_

Éponine smiled to herself. "Enjolras, I understand. I – It's alright."

"_You – You're not mad?"_

She found herself shaking her head. "No. Not very."

"_Good.. good."_

Éponine nodded, her brain unable to come up with a reply. In truth, she was angry, spitting angry. Enjolras had hurt her feelings – _again._ She chose not to mention it, for fear of becoming "that girl" – the one who was never happy, always had something to complain about. She'd been like that before and it had gotten her rows and rows of bruises and cut marks.

But Enjolras would never hurt her.

"Do you wanna come over?" she asked, twirling a piece of her hair, closing her eyes.

"_I've got a shit ton of work tonight."_

"Oh. Well, me, too, I guess." She chuckled softly. "I'll talk to you tomorrow." She pushed a paper away from her and then back again.

"_You sure you're not angry?"_

Éponine laughed, despite her sadness and disappointment. "No, certainly not."

"_Alright. I just wanted to make sure." _He still sounded hesitant, but Éponine couldn't be bothered to try and convince him of her lies.

"Night," she said, ready to forget about her day and go to sleep.

"_Goodnight, Veronica."_

Éponine hung up without another word. She threw her phone across the table.

God, what she wouldn't do for a stiff drink right about now.


	28. Sandwiches and Stars

**A/N: I have returned! And I know I said no updates this week, but I didn't think you'd mind. We have two chapters left, so my plan is to update Monday and Friday next week and then begin the new story sometime after that. Later dates will be announced soon. (To those of you concerned about the fire: Keep your pants on, loves! All will be clear in due time.) **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty Seven: _Sandwiches and Stars_

.::.

_September 2__nd__; Grantaire and Ryan's apartment._

.::.

"June, _please_, put that dish down!" Grantaire swept into the kitchen, ripping the dirty dish from out of June's hand. He threw it into the sink and put his hands on his hips, frowning at his guest. "You're a guest – you're basically family, I don't want you to do work."

June frowned and shoved him aside. "I'll clean if I want to clean, dammit!" She ran her hands under the soapy water pouring into the sink, smiling contentedly to herself.

Sitting at the bar, Éponine chuckled, taking a sip of her beer. The day after the fire, Éponine had gone to school, putting away her qualms about Enjolras' friends and his seeming refusal to stand up for her. She had better things to worry about, anyway. Like lesson plans and a birthday party for Gavroche. After work, she'd gone to Grantaire and Ryan's apartment to check on June, who was staying with the pair for a undetermined amount of time.

Ryan set his phone down on the bar and crossed his arms. "So, how was work, since you're the only one who is employed now?"

Éponine rolled her eyes. "I like it a lot, actually. The kids are darling – a little unruly sometimes, but darling."

Grantaire, leaning on side of the bar, smiled faintly. "Unlike me, you've found good use for your degree. I'm proud of you, Veronica." June looked up from the water and caught Éponine's eye; she looked back down.

"Thanks, 'Taire." She cleared her throat and breathed deeply for a moment. "June, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, dear." She didn't look up.

"You said that the fire started in the attic, but Jack said you didn't have an attic. That you'd transformed it into your house."

June sighed sharply. Her hands went still in the sink, the soapy, partially dirty water reaching up to her wrists. She closed her eyes for a brief moment. Éponine bit her lip, her cheeks heating.

"Veronica, I don't –" Ryan rested his hand on Éponine's knee, squeezing it gently, his eyes full of remorse.

"No, Ryan, it's fine." June looked up, a sad smile on her face. "He's right – Enjolras is right, I don't have an attic."

Ryan's hand fell away from her knee, his brow drawing together. "Then why did you say that you had one?"

June laughed suddenly. It cut through the air like a knife; beside Éponine, Grantaire tensed. "I'm not very good at lying, I suppose." She pulled her hands out of the water and rubbed them on a towel laying nearby.

"What do you mean?" Grantaire leaned forward.

June didn't answer; she turned around and poured herself a glass of red wine, going to sit on the couch beside a window looking out onto an open field. Beyond that rested the highway that Éponine drove on to get to Augusta. Ryan, Grantaire, and Éponine shared confused looks. When the woman sighed and beckoned them over, like a trio of scared children, they went into the living room, sitting either on the floor or love seat opposite the couch.

"My husband," June began. "He loved the café. We never had any kids, you know, and so the place sort of became his child. We found it years and years ago, broken down, looking for someone to fix it up. Justin built that shop from the ground up, really; it was our home." She took a long sip of wine, looking out the window.

"Anyway, when – when the fire started, I was outside, fixing one of the window boxes, the ones that held the tulips. I began to smell smoke and so I ran inside and saved whatever I could, but it was too late. Everything burnt; all of our memories together. All of the memories I had left of him – gone, in a flash." She snapped her fingers. "I lied about the attic because I didn't want to worry anyone."

Éponine reached forward, placing her hand on June's knee. The woman turned, her cheeks damp with tears. "What are you saying, June?"

"Courfeyrac told me that you mentioned something about someone burning my home down," June whispered, her voice dark and raspy. In the dark of the apartment and the limited light from the sun setting outside, Éponine felt a shiver roll down her spine.

Éponine drew her hand away. "I wasn't being serious."

June narrowed her eyes, staring deeply into Éponine's eyes. "Someone burnt my house down. I know it."

Éponine swallowed hard. After a small, tense moment, Grantaire chuckled loudly, clasping his hands together; both June and Éponine visibly jumped. "Well, that is one heck of an idea, June! Why don't you – we all turn in for the night?"

Ryan, still slightly shaken form June's story, glanced at his watch, his voice wavering. "It's only six-thirty."

Grantaire clenched his jaw and widened his eyes, putting a hand on June's shoulder. "I know that, Ryan, but Veronica – she's gotta get home to little Walter and we've got some stuff to take care of, remember?"

"What?"

Grantaire's nostrils flared; Éponine stood up, holding in a soft chuckle. "We've gotta go find paint colors for the bathroom."

"Oh, yeah!" Ryan finally caught the drift, jumping to his feet. "Paint colors – we're painting the bathroom."

June, weak and tired, smiled. "Well, don't let me hold you back. You boys go to Home Depot and Veronica, you go home." She stood up slowly, stretching her back.

Éponine watched the woman walk slowly to the guest bedroom. "Goodnight, June."

The woman lifted her hand in response, still clutching her glass of wine.

.::.

_September 3__rd__; Sandwiches and Stars._

.::.

As of the day after the fire, _Les Amis _began again in full swing. Instead of meeting at the café – since that was clearly not an option – they met at the next best place: a restaurant across the street from the ruins of the café called Sandwiches and Stars. It was themed like an old 1950s diner with photographs of old movie stars along the wall and a black-and-white checkered floor. Though the food wasn't near as good as the café, the fries were adequate and Don, the owner, took quiet pity on the boys and allowed them to stay longer than they probably should considering they only bought drinks most of the time.

Éponine's workday had been slightly exciting: Gavroche threw up during lunch, so she got off early, since there was no one home to take care of him. Sure that he was done puking, she'd left to run to CVS for a few items and stopped in Sandwiches and Stars when she saw Enjolras' car parked outside.

The bell on the door dinged as she walked in, immediately turning to her left when she heard Grantaire's loud voice. She walked over to the group and placed her hands on the back of Enjolras' chair, leaning down to peck his cheek. The group grew rather silent when she straightened; even Bahorel, who had always been so kind to her, adverted his eyes from hers. She blinked several times, and yet smiled.

"Hey, guys," she said, moving her hands to Enjolras' shoulders; she felt him tense.

Grantaire cleared his throat and took a long sip of water out of the straw in his glass. "Hey, Ronny," he said, pulling back from his near-empty cup.

Combeferre shifted in his seat, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "How is the new job?" he asked quietly.

Éponine licked her lips, nodding slowly. "It's going splendidly. Thanks." Her foot tapped impatiently on the floor; Enjolras had yet to respond to her showing up. She could practically feel him sweating underneath her hands. She squeezed his shoulders, her jaw tightening.

She'd told herself that Enjolras and his friends had changed – that they no longer viewed her as trash, lower than them because of their old money. Apparently, she'd been wrong. Of course, Grantaire was the only member of _Les Amis _to ever tell her outright, they down-right felt uncomfortable around her. For awhile, when Combeferre had dumped the beer on Enjolras' head, when the best friends had gone days, _weeks_, without speaking, she'd thought that maybe he – Combeferre – had come to the realization that he'd been wrong all along. Apparently she'd been wrong about that, too.

Maybe it was the café that did it – changed the boys. It had been a symbol of what they'd believed and preached for so long that when the building burnt down, all the memories came flooding back, as did the idea that those less fortune should remain so.

Or maybe it was just the fact that they'd been inactive for so long. And since it was one of their first meetings as a whole group again, they'd fallen back into their old pattern easily and quickly.

Éponine withdrew her hands from Enjolras' shoulders. He turned in his seat slightly, his left hand reaching for hers, but she shoved it into her pocket, pretending not to notice his movement. Éponine swallowed hard, turning her head to look out the windows that lined the whole front of the store. On the sidewalks of Main Street, she watched the high-schoolers walk home, talking loudly amongst themselves, for a moment before she turned back to the group, smiling broadly.

"Well, nice talking to you guys," she said, gripping the strap of her bag tightly; her knuckles turned white. "Have –" She cleared her throat. "Have a great day." Turning sharply on her heel, Éponine quite literally fled from Sandwiches and Stars, the humiliation pouring over her in waves.

The cool outside air soothed her burning skin and she fumbled for her car keys in her bag. Well aware that _Les Amis_ could easily see her from where they were sitting in the shop, she did her best not to appear shaken, or angered, or saddened. She was sure she failed on all three accounts. Finally she found her car keys and unlocked the car, throwing the door open.

"Veronica!"

She closed her eyes briefly, holding the frame of the door tightly. Enjolras ran up beside her, stopping a foot away from her rear-view mirror. Éponine was thankful her car door was open, as it created a shield between the two. She turned away from Enjolras, wrinkling her nose.

"Veronica –"

Flaring her nostrils, she turned her head, frowning deeply. "What, Jack?"

"I wanted to –"

She scoffed, cutting him off. "What? Apologize?"

Sheepishly, he nodded, his cheeks coloring. "Yes, actually." He ran a hand through his hair, peering over his shoulder, toward the inside of the sandwich shop.

Éponine swallowed, her throat constricting around the movement. She shook her head, glancing into the car. Enjolras reached out, resting his hand on Éponine's shoulder; she wrenched it out of his grasp. "I don't want your apologies," she whispered.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him clench his fist by his side. He towered several inches above her and when he took a step closer, Éponine closed the car door, taking a step back. "I'm sorry, Veronica. I really am. I – it's hard –"

"What's hard?" she asked, gathering the courage to face him once more. "Really, Jack, enlighten me because I'm having a hard time understanding. Is being with your friends hard? Is reconnecting with them hard? Or how about me? Is it me, Jack? To you have difficulty with me? 'Cause it's obvious that –"

"Veronica, stop!"

"No! Not until you tell me what is so hard about this! Because I don't –"

"If you would stop talking for a minute, maybe you would be able to hear what I have to say!" Enjolras slapped his hand down on the hood of the car, his voice loud and abrupt. Éponine's eyes momentarily flashed with fear, but morphed back into anger, settling her gaze on his eyes, unwavering. After a long moment of watching him breathe deeply, Éponine saw Enjolras open his eyes, slowly, methodically. "Are you ready to listen now?" he asked.

She didn't answer, focusing instead on the traffic light in the center of the square. Like always, it was turned off.

He sighed and lifted his hand from the car-hood, the hot metal finally affecting his skin. "The guys – They don't understand us."

Éponine faced him again. "This isn't about them," she said, shaking her head. "This about you always clamming up every time I come around and of them is nearby." She pointed to the shop window, well-aware that a small audience of men in their early twenties had formed by the window.

Enjolras groaned, rolling his eyes. "I don't _try _to."

"You don't try _not _to!" Tears pricked the corner of her eyes. "Maybe we –" Her voice fell and Enjolras' eyes widened; he took a step forward, his hand out-stretched.

"No! Don't say it. I know what you're going to say."

Éponine briefly closed her eyes, licking her lips. "Maybe we aren't right for each other after all."

Enjolras shook his head. "Don't say that – You know we're good together."

Éponine looked toward the ground, sniffing violently. His words rang truth, she knew. They never ran out of things to talk about; he cared about her interest, and likewise, Éponine cared about Enjolras'. He was right when he said they were good together – they were. Grantaire had told her before. Even after their initial opinions of one another, when realizing how completely different their upbringings were, they still found out how to make it work.

And Éponine liked him; she liked him a lot. (She wouldn't say love; that was too big too soon.) She liked the way he sounded when they met for morning coffee – sleep laced and husky. She liked his hair; it always felt so miraculously soft beneath her fingers. And she liked the way his lips felt on hers.

But she had self-respect.

And if he couldn't act the same way around his friends, if he was truly ashamed of her –

"I've never felt this way about anyone before." His voice snapped her out of her thought. She hadn't realized that he was so close; his hands cupped her cheeks gently and wiped away the stray tear that rolled down her cheek.

She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. "Jack, I can't do this if –" She took a step back, clearing her thought; Enjolras' hands fell to his side. Her chin quivered. "You hurt me," she whispered.

"Veronica, Veronica, I _know_. I'm so sorry. I –"

The front door to Sandwiches and Stars opened and Courfeyrac poked his head out, yelling, "Hey! Can we hurry this up a little?!"

Enjolras turned his head, frowning deeply. His flicked off his friend, who only scurried back into the restaurant with a snigger. Éponine took the opportunity to hop into the car, starting the engine. Before she closed the door, she looked out onto Enjolras' aghast face. "Call me when you've got your priorities straight, okay? I'm not saying you need to give up your friends; I would never say that. But interpret it from there as you will." She slammed the car door shut, narrowly missing his hand.

As she drove away, she finally let loose and cried.


End file.
